Kidnapped
by Lawndale Stalker
Summary: Daria agrees to babysit the Gupty kids again. This could be the toughest assignment of her babysitting career. Finished!
1. Chapter One

KIDNAPPED

by Robert Lawndale Stalkinson

Chapter 1

Daria Morgendorffer walked along the quiet, shady sidewalk, having quiet second thoughts about this babysitting gig. She was more than a little surprised that the Guptys would even consider hiring her again. Mrs. Gupty had called for Quinn, but Quinn was out somewhere with the fashion nazis. Mrs. Gupty had made the mistake of repeating her name, and in the background Daria had heard the "little monsters" begin to chant "we want Daria!" Mrs. Gupty had hesitated, but, for whatever reason, had asked her to babysit, and Daria, for whatever reason, had agreed. But now, as she turned off Briarpatch Road onto Bug Tussle Lane, she winced. The closer she got to her destination, the more everything seemed to reek of cutesie-poo. Daria took off her glasses and held them in her hand as she walked. It helped some.

Why had she agreed, she wondered as she walked along. The Guptys paid well, but she didn't really need the money. Something in Mrs. Gupty's tone told Daria that Mrs. Gupty was at the end of her babysitter list, but this didn't exactly call forth a gush of sympathy from her. Maybe it was that Tad and Tricia seemed to want her. _I don't have such a huge fan club that I can go blowing them off,_ she thought wryly. _Geez, I'm such a pushover._

As she crossed onto the block the Guptys lived on, Daria looked ahead. Two small fuzzy figures were doing something in the front yard of the Gupty house. Daria put on her glasses. Tricia and Tad were playing some tag-like game. _Careful. Don't fall on the lawn decorations and kill yourselves,_ she thought.

A van slowed to a stop in front of the Gupty house and a man leaned out the driver's window. Tricia and Tad stopped what they were doing and seemed to be listening. Tricia pointed down the street in the direction the van had come from. Must be someone they know, Daria thought. Gupty kids would never talk to a stranger. The man seemed to say something else, and Tricia took a couple of steps closer and seemed to answer, pointing again. Tad came up behind Tricia.

Suddenly the door flew open, the man leaped out, grabbed both children, heaved them into the van, got back in himself, and accelerated away. Astonished, Daria nevertheless had the presence of mind to memorize the van's plate number and what she could of a description of driver and vehicle. As the van sped by, she saw little Tad's frightened face at a window, mouthing what she was sure was her name.

Horrified, Daria watched as the van sped off down the street. Then she turned and sprinted to the Guptys' house.

The door flew open in response to her frantic pounding. "What on earth..."

"The children have been kidnapped!" Call the police!" Daria shouted between gasps.

Mrs.Gupty pushed past her out into the front yard, followed by Mr. Gupty. Frantic shouts of "Tricia!" and "Tad!" brought no more response than did Daria's repeated statements of the facts. Finally, though, sense overcame panic and they listened to her story.

"My babies, my babies! What are we going to do?" wailed Mrs. Gupty.

"We'll call the police, we'll call Amber Alert, we'll call the FBI, we'll call... we'll call the milk carton people!" Mr. Gupty said.

"Call 911 first! Daria said, half-shoving them back toward their open front door.

"Yes! Call 911!" Mrs. Gupty agreed as they headed for the house.

Mr. Gupty stopped suddenly. "Wait! There's a piece of paper in the yard!" He spun around and headed back toward the street, with Mrs. Gupty right behind him.

"What! I can't believe..." Daria started to exclaim, but cut herself off. _They're irrational. They're distraught. Calling them names won't help,_ she told herself. _The obsessive-compulsive twits... _She started back to where they were poring over the piece of trash they'd picked up, just as they came charging back toward the house.

Mrs. Gupty handed Daria the piece of paper as Mr. Gupty hurried inside. "We're not really crazy, Daria," she said, "There's never any trash in our yard."

Daria looked at the paper. It had come, she saw, from an inkjet printer. It read: "Don't call the police, or anyone else. I'll know and I'll kill them. Stand by the phone. It won't be long."

Clutching the paper, Daria hurried into the house after Mrs. Gupty.

…

Mr. And Mrs. Gupty paced back and forth across their tasteless but immaculate living room like caged animals, each glancing at the telephone on the coffee table at least once every three seconds. Daria stood in the corner by the front door to avoid being trampled.

As her gaze roamed restlessly about the lethally kitschy room, Daria noticed that, while it was indeed immaculate, it was somewhat cluttered today. A wastebasket full of torn-open envelopes stood beside a work table that had been set up against one wall. On the table was an adding machine that trailed a long paper tape covered with figures, and two bank deposit bags full of what might well be money or checks or both. It looked as though the Guptys had just finished adding up the proceeds of some activity or other, and were about to take those proceeds down to the bank.

Something Mr. Gupty said about calling the police on his cell phone brought her attention back to the immediate situation.

"But what if he calls your cell phone number?" Mrs. Gupty asked.

"That's hardly likely. How is a stranger going to know my cell phone number?"

"Excuse me, but I don't think he's a stranger," Daria said.

"What? Not a stranger? Why do you say that?"

"You taught Tad and Tricia not to talk to strangers, didn't you?"

"Of course. All the tricks a kidnapper might use, and how to avoid them."

"They talked to this guy. Approached his van like they recognized him. He was also pretty sure that you'd notice a piece of paper in your yard and pick it up immediately."

"Hey, you're right! Good thinking, Daria!"

"I'll tell you something else. He's working alone."

"Really? How do you know that?"

"If there were more than one, there'd have been at least two in the van, a driver and a snatcher. Three would've been better. If this guy hadn't been familiar and very fast, the kids would have gotten away."

Mrs. Gupty began to cry again, and Mr. Gupty enfolded her in a hug. After a minute he said, "That's good reasoning, Daria. Very fast, you say?"

"The cliché phrase "quick as a cat" comes to mind."

"Can you describe him?"

"I was down at the end of the block. Thin, medium height, light short hair, khaki pants, light blue shirt, that's about all I could make out."

"Hmm. Do you think you could rec-"

Mr' Gupty's question was interrupted by a phone ringing. The Guptys almost hurt themselves in their haste to grab it. "Hello, hello!" Mr. Gupty blurted after Mrs. Gupty relinquished her hold, then he stared at it in anger and puzzlement.

The ring came again, and he dropped the handset he held and snatched his cell phone off his belt. "Hello!" He cried as soon as he got it open.

"The money you collected last night. Put it in a small plain suitcase. Give it to Daria. Give her your white Volvo and this phone. Tell her if she's not here in five minutes, the little monsters die," said the voice on the phone.

"What? Where? If she's not where?" Mr. Gupty shouted.

"I'll tell Daria where. Give her the phone and get a suitcase."

When Daria heard Mr. Gupty say "If she's not where?" she started to get a bad feeling. When he handed her the phone and ran out of the room, she felt like a five-pound ice cube had suddenly materialized in her stomach. Hesitantly, she held it to her ear. "Talk to me, Daria," said a voice that made her think of snakes.

"H- hello?"

"Hello, Daria. Tad and Tricia tell me you're going to save them from me. Isn't that sweet? Well, I'm going to give you a chance to do just that. As soon as the Guptys give you my suitcase of money, you're going to get in their car and bring it to me. Do you understand?"

"Bring it where? Where are you?"

"All in good time. I'll tell you that when you're out of their driveway. Do you have the suitcase yet?"

"Uh, not- wait, here it comes."

Mr. Gupty reappeared with a small blue hardside suitcase, threw it on the work table, opened it, and grabbed one of the heavy vinyl bank deposit bags. "Help me get the money in here, Emily," he said.

Mrs. Gupty seized the other bag and zipped it open, and they both tried to dump the bags' contents into the suitcase, but the bundles of bills didn't want to pour out of the zippered openings. They began transferring them by hand as fast as they could. "Does he want the checks, too?" Mrs. Gupty asked.

"Do you want the checks too?" Daria relayed.

"Huh? Uh, no. No, I don't want to fool with any damn checks," said the man on the phone. "Tell them to hurry up! Uh, we don't have all day! Neither do these kids!"

"He says no checks, and hurry," Daria said. Yep, he's definitely alone, she thought. That 'we' was too late, and too lame.

Mr. Gupty took the phone from Daria. "The money's in the suitcase. Let me speak to Tricia." He waited a few seconds, and Daria faintly heard Tricia's voice from the phone. "Tricia, be brave, honey, it'll be all right. We'll get you back! Tricia?"

Mr. Gupty fell silent, his expression turning to anger as he listened to the kidnapper. "How do I know you're going to let our children go?" he demanded. Daria couldn't make out the kidnapper's reply, but she could tell Mr. Gupty didn't like it. "No! Absolutely not! I can't put her life at risk by asking her to participate in this! I'll bring you the money myself!"

Expressions of anger, fear, and hatred flickered across Mr. Gupty's face as he listened to the kidnapper's reply. Daria couldn't hear it, but she didn't need to. She knew he was insisting that Daria make the delivery, and she knew he was threatening to kill the children and disappear if his orders weren't followed to the letter. That's what kidnappers did. The ice cube in Daria's stomach seemed to grow bigger and colder.

The cell phone sagged away from Mr. Gupty's ear, and he turned an anguished look on Daria. In response, she held out a hand. "It's okay," she said. "I want to help." _I can't believe I'm doing this,_ she thought.

Mr. Gupty handed her the cell phone with an expression like he was handing her a cobra. He closed the suitcase, which Daria noted was less than half full, hoisted it, and headed for the door. Daria and Mrs. Gupty followed.

As she came outside, Daria heard noise from the phone and put it to her ear. "Hey! What are you doing? Talk to me!" The kidnapper demanded.

"We're at the car. Mr. Gupty's putting the suitcase inside," she said.

"You people better move a lot faster if you ever want to see these kids alive again! Get those keys and get on the road," he snarled.

"He says I've got to hurry," Daria told Mr. Gupty. "Give me the keys."

Mr. Gupty handed her the keys, and Daria slid behind the wheel of the new Volvo station wagon. "How do you move the seat forward?" she asked, and he showed her. She had to put the phone down to operate the seat controls. Then she closed the door, lowered the driver's side window, and started the engine. When she picked up the phone again, the kidnapper was demanding to know what was going on.

"I'm in the car. I'm adjusting the seat." Daria held the phone far enough away from her ear that the Guptys could probably hear it.

"You're stalling, you little bitch! I told you what would happen if you're not here in five minutes!" the kidnapper shouted. Daria could tell by the Guptys' reactions that they had indeed heard it.

"Hey, don't pressure me! I'm not a great driver in the best of conditions. I'm quite short, you know, and I just got my license. Now, I'm at the end of the driveway. Which way do I turn?" Daria said. Mr. and Mrs.Gupty, who could see that Daria hadn't taken the car out of park yet, looked puzzled. Daria put a finger to her lips, leaned closer to them, and held the phone out a little farther.

"Head toward Old Fishkill Road," came from the phone. Daria winked at Mr. Gupty, slipped the transmission quietly into reverse, and rolled down the driveway into the street. Mr. Gupty gave her a grin and a thumbs-up sign. Mrs. Gupty seemed to be praying.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

_Well, I got them all the extra information I could,_ Daria thought as she drove down the street. _I hope they can put it to good use_. She heard cranky squawing sounds coming from the cell phone. She drove through an intersection, checked her rear view mirror, and reluctantly took a hand off the steering wheel to pick it up from the seat. "What?"

"What were you doing? Why didn't you answer?"

"I'm driving." Daria refrained from adding "you idiot!"

"That's no excuse for putting down the phone! From now on, I want you to keep this phone in your ear at all times, and answer me immediately, do you..." Daria missed the remainder of that sentence because she had to make a turn.

"Hey! HEY! What the hell is all that clacking and scraping and beeping?"

"That's me turning onto Iroquois Avenue! And it's mighty hard holding this phone and the steering wheel at the same time, let me tell you. I have small hands!"

"You're supposed to drive one-handed, you moron! You'd better not break this connection!"

Never in her life could Daria remember wanting to unload a broadside of sarcasm on anyone as much as she did right now. But, she reminded herself, this time she just could not indulge in that luxury. In the meekest, most reasonable tone of voice she could manage, she replied, "If I try to do that, I'll wreck the car, and your money will be blowing in the wind all over town."

"Now you look here. Your showing up spoiled my original plan. I've cut out a lot of precautions to speed things up and get on the road faster. But I have to know where you are at all times so I know you're not trying to pull a fast one. Where are you now?"

"I just crossed Cherry street. Half a mile from Fishkill Road."

"Good. I mean, you're driving too slow. Hurry up! And keep that phone in your ear at all times if you want to see these kids again!"

Daria's estimate of the kidnapper's intelligence was steadily dropping. "I can just barely drive two-handed, let alone one-handed. I told you that I just got my license, and I've never driven this car before. And you keep in mind that I'm going to want to see those kids unhurt before I get anywhere near you with this money."

On Cherry street, four girls in a convertible watched as Daria drove through the intersection. One said, "Uh, Quinn, isn't that your, like, weird cousin or whatever that just drove past in that like brand new Volvo?"

Quinn Morgendorffer stared after her receding sister. "It, um, kinda looked like her. But she doesn't hardly drive at all, and she sure doesn't have a car like that."

"I'm sure that was her. And she sure was driving fast," Stacy said.

"Yeaahh... and taalking on a celll phone..."

"We gotta check this out," Sandi decided, turning after the Volvo and mashing the accelerator pedal.

"I'm coming up on Old Fishkill Road," Daria said into the cell phone, "Which way?"

"Turn north," he said, "That's left to you."

_Of course he'd be the kind of man who thinks women have no sense of direction,_ Daria thought. _Fine. The more he underestimates me, the better._ "I'm putting the phone down to make the turn," she said, and did so.

Daria racked her brain to recall everything she'd heard or read about kidnappings. Most of it was definitely not good, especially the for-money type of kidnapping. The victim or victims were often killed to protect the identities of the kidnappers. And Tad and Tricia apparently knew this man. They'd certainly gotten a good close look at him, at the very least. Her position was also potentially quite dangerous, she realized, depending on what procedure he had in mind for making the exchange. The closer she got to him, the more danger she would be in. But Daria had to think of the childrens' safety first.

She also had to keep in mind the contradictory goals of not angering the kidnapper any more than she could help, and not letting him think he held all the cards and could do anything he wanted. _I'm not getting paid anywhere near enough for this. Even this suitcase full of money isn't nearly enough. If I live through today, I'm retiring from babysitting._ She picked up the phone off the seat and said, "I'm headed north on Old Fishkill Road. Where to now?"

"She's turning left! She's turning left!" Stacy squeaked, bouncing up and down in the back seat.

"Yes, we see that, Stacy," Sandi said in a patronizing tone, "Chill. Don't start hyperventilating."

"That's Fishkill Road, isn't it? Where could she be going out that way?" Quinn wondered.

"Fish kill. Quinn. Ew," drawled Tiffany.

"Um, there's Kenny's Old South Pit Bar-B-Q, and the Dew Drop Inn, and a couple of junkyards, and then pretty much nothing till Hadleyville,"said Stacy.

"We'll just have to follow her and see," Sandi said as she turned north and accelerated up Old Fishkill Road.

"I just passed Kenny's. Now what?"

"The Dew Drop Inn is just ahead. Turn in and park in front of room 104. Leave the car running and the keys in the ignition. Bring the suitcase into room 104."

Daria pulled into the parking lot of the Dew Drop Inn and looked around. The place was probably older than her parents. Single story cinder block buildings, covered with flaking white paint , only about fifteen rooms, it was one of those places you just knew was owned and run by an Indian family. _Geez. Yesterday I'd've said I wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this. And today I may well be. _

Daria spotted room 104 and spoke into the phone. "I'm here."

In the window beside the door, the curtain twitched. "I told you to pull up in front of the door and park!" The kidnapper snapped.

"Let me see the children at the door."

"Hey, I'm the one with the gun here!"

"And I'm the one with the money," replied Daria, suddenly aware that she was sweating profusely. "Let me see the children at the door."

Nothing happened for a few seconds, then the door slowly opened and Tricia and Tad moved into sight in it. Daria could tell they had been crying, but when he saw her, Tad broke into a big grin and started waving. Tricia looked frightened at his rash action, but when the kidnapper did nothing, she smiled too, and waved surreptitiously. Daria smiled and waved back, and a part of her wondered when she'd fallen in love with these two kids that she'd only seen twice before. Another part of her realized, with a sinking feeling, that she'd give her life if she had to, to save theirs.

The kidnapper stepped into view behind them, holding a revolver in front of him so she'd be sure to see it. He looked different. He was wearing a mask, that was it, one of those famous-person type masks. He pulled the children back from the door, not roughly, and closed it. A couple of seconds later, his voice came over the phone. "Now pull up and park in front of the door, and bring the money inside."

_Here we go,_ thought Daria. She said, "let's talk about how we're going to do this. I'm guessing you want to leave here driving this car, right?"

"That's right, and you'd better not try to stop me!"

"That's fine with me. I just need to make sure that when you drive away with the car and the money, the children and I are still here, and still healthy."

"That was always my intention. Now bring me the money."

"Sure, you can have the money," Daria said, thinking furiously, "But we need to do it so that at the same time you get the money and the car, the children and I are out of range of your revolver."

"You're wasting my time," he said, a dangerous edge to his voice, "And time is a precious commodity to me right now."

"Okay, I've seen the kids; you want to see the money, right?" Daria rushed on, not waiting for an answer. "I'll pull up closer and open up the suitcase so you can look." She pulled forward until she was about twenty feet away from the door of 104, stopped, put the car in reverse just in case, and opened the little suitcase. She put the front of it on the dashboard and tilted it up so that the kidnapper, who was peering out the window, could see the cash inside.

"Is that all of it? That doesn't look like much money to me."

"That's all the cash. I watched them putting it in, and they didn't keep any out. You said you didn't want to fool with the checks, remember?"

"How do I know that's real money? I need to look at it up close." He opened the door and looked around, as if he were going to come out to the car.

Daria backed up a few feet and quickly braked again. "Send out one of the kids to bring some in for you to look at," she said.

Across the road from the Dew Drop Inn, in front of a long-abandoned gas station, in the rusty, up-on-blocks hulk of a delivery van, two people crouched in semi-darkness. Eufaula Downing, cub reporter for Sick, Sad World, was into her second day of stakeout at this site, trying to gather footage for a segment tentatively titled 'The Secret Lives of Sleazy Motels', and, although she wasn't sure exactly what was taking place in the motel parking lot, this was the first occurrence here that might possibly be usable. Turning to her cameraman, she asked, "Are you getting this?"

Irritated but used to working with newbie reporters, he merely sighed and answered, "Oh, yeah,"and zoomed in a little tighter.

"Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?" The kidnapper yelled. "You pull a stunt like that again and I'll shoot these kids, so help me!"

"And I'll be out of here like a bat out of hell and calling 9-1-1! I notice that van of yours isn't anywhere in sight, and the cops are probably already looking for it anyway, so just cool it, okay?"

"Who the hell are you, anyway, girl?" He asked, a note of genuine puzzlement in his voice.

"I'm the babysitter. Now, do you want to check out some of these bills, which is a waste of time, because the Guptys didn't have any time or any reason to go get fake money, or do you want to skip that and go right to the swap?"

"I want my damn money and I want to get out of here!" he replied, sounding rattled.

"Fine, let's do that," said Daria, striving to sound positive, helpful, and businesslike. Let the kids out, and we'll all move nice and easy, and every step you take toward the car, we'll take a step away from you, okay? Then, when you get to the car, just hop in and drive away."

A few seconds passed, then the masked kidnapper emerged from the motel room and gestured for Tad and Tricia to come out behind him. At first, Daria didn't see the gun, then she spotted it in his right front pants pocket. Daria opened the car door and put one foot on the ground, slipping the cell phone into her jacket pocket as an afterthought.

"Before we start, put the suitcase on the hood of the car," he said.

Daria considered this carefully, then, seeing no disadvantage to her, nodded and pulled the suitcase out of the car. "Tricia, Tad, listen," she called out to them. "When he and I start walking, you start too. Don't go any faster than we do. You walk that way, toward the end of this building, then you go around the building and into the woods behind it, okay? I'll be right behind you. Remember, we're all going to be walking slow, okay? And if I say stop, you stop, okay?"

"Okay, Daria," Tricia and Tad replied.

"Or if I say stop, you stop too," the kidnapper said.

"Uh, right," Daria replied.

"Now put the suitcase on the hood."

"Okay, but when I do, you stay still. And kids, you take three steps toward the end of the building."

"What the..."

"Because I'll be coming closer to you, instead of farther away," Daria explained.

The kidnapper looked toward the end of the building and the gap between it and the next one, then toward Daria and the hood of the car, and said, "Whatever! Hurry up!"

Daria started to step around the driver's side door, then turned at the sound of tires on the gritty parking lot pavement. Sandi Griffin's cute little convertible came to a stop right behind the Volvo and the fashion fiends got out.

"No!" Daria cried. "Get out of here! Get back in that car and burn rubber! Now!"

"Daria! What on earth are you doing with that scruffy little suitcase at this sleazy little motel? You are so gonna get it when I tell Mom!" Quinn demanded, marching angrily toward her, followed by the others.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" came a voice from behind her. Daria turned. The kidnapper was rapidly closing the gap between them. Tad and Tricia Gupty cowered against the wall behind him, not knowing what to do. There was no chance now that Daria could jump back into the car and get away.

"Geez, talk about a low-rent rendezvous," sneered Sandi. "Like, introduce us to your friend, Daria."

"Yes indeed, Daria," the kidnapper said urbanely, "Come on in, and bring your suitcase. Oh, and bring all your little friends, too." He gestured toward the door of room 104.

"I don't think so," said Quinn, noticing the mask he wore. Seeing it up close, Daria decided that it was probably a Mr. Rogers mask.

"Like, in your dreams," Sandi added.

The kidnapper pulled the revolver from his pocket and pointed it straight at Sandi. "Get in there right now! All of you!"

Across the road inside the rusty old delivery van on blocks, two figures watched. "Did you get that? **_Please _**tell me you got that!" said Eufaula.

"Put the suitcase on the bed! Now all of you get back over there!" the kidnapper demanded, flourishing his revolver. The girls and Tad crowded to the back of the small room, and he opened the suitcase and began examining the money.

"Daria, what the aitch is going on here?" Quinn whispered loudly.

"Oh, pretty much what you're thinking, Quinn," Daria replied, disgusted, "I've been carrying on a tawdry affair with Tad and Tricia. We got caught, and now we're being blackmailed." Tad and Tricia burst out laughing at this, and the kidnapper gave an amused snort. Quinn, Sandi, Stacy, and Tiffany looked blank or confused.

"The children were kidnapped," Daria said, eliciting a chorus of gasps. "I brought the ransom, and we almost had everything worked out when you and the special class showed up."

The kidnapper finished flipping through and sniffing several bundles of bills and turned to them, smiling. "It worked out all right in the end, though. I've got the money, the car, and plenty of hostages. Oh, give me your cell phone, would you, Daria?" he said, holding out a hand.

Maintaining a deadpan expression, Daria handed over Mr. Gupty's cell phone. The kidnapper stepped to the nightstand and yanked the phone cord out of the wall. Daria began to hope again. _He wouldn't be bothering with this if he intended to kill us,_ she thought.

"Oh, no, he's going to kill us all, I know he is!" Stacy wailed

Daria couldn't believe Stacy had said that. _ I hope he starts with you, you idiot._ "No, he isn't, Stacy. He wants as much of a head start as he can get, and if that family that owns this place hear a gunshot, they'll call the police instantly. They live here, you know."

"But won't he shoot them too?"

_If we survive this,I am **so** gonna kick your ass..._ "No, Stacy. He doesn't have enough bullets in that revolver to shoot all of them. It's a big family. Now shut up or I'll smack you."

"And when she's finished, so will I," said Sandi.

Stacy whimpered and started to tear up. The kidnapper smiled a creepy smile and said, "She's right, Stacy. All I want is a good long head start, and I have a cute idea how to get one. All you girls take your clothes off. Not you, Tricia. You and Tad come stand over here in the front corner, and give the ladies some room."

Daria felt the blush setting in almost instantly. _This just makes my day,_ she thought, and then another thought drove that one out. She sat down on the bed and began to unlace a boot, while her mind raced. He wasn't making Todd and Tricia undress, therefore he was going to take them with him. That probably meant he was planning to kill them. Her stomach knotted up, and she could feel the blood draining from her face, erasing the blush. _Yeah, that figures. He wasn't wearing the mask when he snatched them this morning, and they acted like they recognized him. What can I do? _

Stacy was blubbering and Sandi was bitching. _Damn. I don't want to divert the mental resources to deal with them, but I suppose I should try to keep them from getting themselves killed._ But then Tiffany put a hand on the shoulder of each and said simply, "It's better than a bullet,"and, surprisingly, that seemed to work.

But then Stacy said, "Bu- but, I thought he wa-wasn't going to shoot us."

"He could just as easily club you to death with the pistol," Quinn said.

The two looked from Tiffany to Quinn, then looked at the kidnapper, still smiling, his pistol pointed at the ceiling. Daria dropped her boot with a clunk, then silently began unlacing the other one. Stacy looked at Daria, then reached down and slipped off a shoe. A couple of seconds later, Sandi did likewise.

Daria pulled off her socks, then unzipped her jacket. Her attempt to think was producing no more results than a dog chasing its tail. There was nothing she could do in the present situation, and she couldn't think of anything persuasive to say, either.

"Hurry up! Get those clothes off!" The kidnapper growled. Daria looked around and saw that the other girls were down to one or two items of clothing, except for Quinn, who had also been slowed down by having to unlace her boots. She pulled her jeans off and reached for her bra clasp. Daria was a bit surprised to note that Quinn was blushing.

Daria stood and began unfastening her skirt. She turned and looked the kidnapper in the eye. "Don't take them with you," she said. "Leave them here."

His smile changed a little. Daria didn't think she liked the change. "Oh, don't worry about the kids," he said. They'll just be ridin' with me a few miles, just in case. When I change cars, I'll leave 'em. They can just stay with their folks' car, and they'll be found pretty quick."

"You don't need them. There's no situation in which you'll be better off with them than without them. Leave them here with us. Please." Daria hated herself for not being able to think of something more convincing to say.

His smile faded. "Now, I told you not to worry. I also told you to **_get those clothes off!_**" he shouted, and pointed the revolver at her.

Daria started to reach behind her back, but other hands unhooked her bra before she could reach it, and it was jerked off her. Someone, she was pretty sure it was Quinn, unceremoniously yanked her panties down to the floor. She was suddenly au naturel, exchanging stares with the kidnapper and the kids. His smile returned. Tad and Trish just stared. Belatedly she tried to cover herself with her hands.

"Well, now, ain't it nice to have friends when you need a hand," he said. Now all of you get in the bathroom."

**Breakout!**

_Oh, joy. Locked in a bathroom stark naked with four of the prettiest girls in Lawndale. This'll do wonders for my ego._ Daria moved quickly toward the bathroom, but was the last one in, nevertheless. Tiffany and Stacy, the first in, were already wrapping themselves in the two bath towels.

"Hey!"

Daria turned to see the kidnapper coming behind them holding the room's only chair.

"Gimme those towels, you two! Come on, throw 'em out!" he said. The towels came flying over Daria's head and out the door, accompanied by a lot of whining from Stacy.

The kidnapper closed the bathroom door, and could be heard outside wedging the chair under the doorknob.

"Hey, wait!" Sandi yelled. "You can't just leave us in here! We might not be found for hours!"

"That's the idea," he said. "That'll give me a long head start. Don't worry, you've got plenty of water and a toilet, and you can give each other baths to pass the time!" His laugh came muffled through the door.

Daria was getting the glimmer of an idea. She pressed her ear to the door and listened to the sounds from without. It sounded like the kidnapper was gathering up their clothes to take with him. That was probably a good thing, because it was slowing him down, eating into whatever cushion of time he had. It couldn't be much, if Mr. Gupty had told the police to start looking on Old Fishkill Road. Also, when they caught him, the police would find the clothes, and come looking for them if they hadn't escaped or been found already.

But if she could put her idea into practice, this might all be over very quickly. It would definitely be all over very quickly for her, she realized, one way or the other.

"Omigod, omigodomigod, we're all going to die in here!" Stacy started up again, breaking Daria's concentration. She turned around. Stacy was standing in the bathtub, trying to wear the shower curtain. Tiffany was examining herself in the mirror, appearing completely unruffled. Sandi leaned against a wall, arms crossed, glaring at Stacy but doing nothing. Quinn was watching her, Daria saw, apparently counting on her to get them out of this.

"Quinn," Daria said, and pointed to Stacy. "I need you to shut her up so I can hear." Quinn looked, nodded, and stepped across the bathroom. She seized Stacy by the neck, pushed her back against the wall, and got nose to nose with her. "Stacy...shut...up!" she said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Shocked by Quinn's expression as much as by her actions, Stacy choked back an "eep!"and went silent.

Daria turned back to the door and resumed listening. The sounds seemed to indicate that the kidnapper had given up on the idea of taking their clothes with him and was stuffing them under the bed. That meant he was using his head. Not good in the short run, unless he decided not to take Tad and Tricia. No such luck. They were all three leaving. Daria heard the suitcase bump the doorframe. She tensed.

"What do..." Quinn began to ask, but Daria waved her to silence. She heard one car door close... then the other. She sprang into action.

"Daria, what in the world..."

Daria seized the porcelain lid off the toilet flush tank, and swung it like an axe at the door. The flimsy hollow interior door split like kindling. Two more blows left a hole big enough for Daria to reach through. A second later, she pulled her arm back in, saying "Ow, damn!" and opened the door. Still carrying the toilet tank lid, she charged out.

Uppermost in Daria's mind was the fact that Tad and Tricia Gupty had gotten a good look at their kidnapper's unmasked face. As soon as he was reasonably sure he'd have no further use for them as hostages, and as soon as it was convenient for him to do so, he would almost certainly dispose of them. This was her last chance to save them. She tried not to think about the fact that she was going up against a gun armed only with a toilet tank lid, or that she was doing it in the nude. Dashing across the room, she flung open the door and ran outside.

He had backed the Volvo out of the parking space and braked, and was putting it into drive. The driver's side of the car was broadside on to her, and his window was still down. Behind him, Daria saw the frightened faces of Tricia and Tad. Not slowing, shifting her grip on the heavy lid, she ran straight at him. A small detached part of her mind noted that the world seemed to have slowed down. He looked up and saw her when she was about ten feet away. His eyes widened and his head turned to look down at something on the seat beside him. She was four feet away when she saw him take his hand off the steering wheel and reach for the thing on the seat, and she thrust the tank lid forward with all her strength, overhand, like a javelin. His head started to turn back toward her, his expression turning angry. He was beginning to bring up the thing she knew was the revolver as she threw all her weight and all her forward momentum behind the tank lid.

The end of it caught him in the side of the head, between the eye and the ear, and bore him down sideways to the seat. Daria's belly smacked into the side of the car, and she managed to get a forearm between her head and the top of the door. Pushing back enough to look inside, she saw that he was apparently unconscious. She jerked the door open, turned off the ignition and pulled out the key.

"Get out!" She ordered the wide-eyed waifs inside, and then reluctantly leaned in, eased his finger off the trigger, and pulled the revolver out of his nerveless hand. Triumphant, she turned back to room 104, just as the door swung closed and the lock clicked. Suddenly, the world sped up, time resumed its normal pace, and Daria was standing in the middle of the parking lot of the Dew Drop Inn, in broad daylight, stark naked.

Across the road inside the old junk van, the woman whispered to the cameraman, "Please, Joe, _PLEASE_ tell me you're getting all of this!"


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

**With Friends Like These**

The door of room 104 flew open and a naked girl ran out. A professional broadcast quality camera, a hideously expensive telephoto zoom lens, and the latest in computer image enhancement left not a shred of doubt that the girl was Daria Morgendorffer. Clad only in a few lo-res modesty pixels, she ran to a white station wagon and heaved a toilet tank lid through the driver's window, then opened the door and bent way over to reach something inside. A few modesty pixels appeared and hovered around her bottom like strange square butterflies.

In the darkened family room of Schloss Morgendorffer, the real live Daria lowered her face into her hands and groaned. "That's gotta be breaking some privacy or indecency law. Can't you sue _someone?_"

Helen looked up from her notes and winced in sympathy. "I'll research the case law as soon as I can get to some law books, but it looks like they're just barely within the indecency laws here. As for privacy, if you're involved in a news event, you don't have much. Remember the footage of that little Vietnamese girl running down the road, her clothes burnt off by napalm? They still show that, and they don't even give her a blurry spot."

Daria looked back up at the TV with the look of one robbed without hope of recourse. "So my ass belongs to the ages now, is that what you're saying?"

"I'm afraid so, sweetie."

"And your perky little... uh... front, too," Jane added.

"I hate you. Oh, and thanks for coming over. Want a soda?"

"Don't mind if I do, amiga. And don't mention it, even though I did break a nail on a reporter's face getting in."

Daria rose from the sofa. "You want something, Mom?"

"Not right now, thanks."

When Daria returned, Jane accepted her can of soda and asked, "So, have you thought about what you're going to do for school outfits now?"

Helen looked up. Daria said, "What do you mean?"

"Well, your customary figure-hiding, boy-repellent outfit is as obsolete as the Maginot Line. It no longer has a purpose."

Daria scowled. "Maybe I'll get some of those outfits like the Tuareg women wear. You know, black and baggy, a hundred yards of material, nothing showing but the eyes?"

Jane chuckled. "Hang it up, Daria, it's a lost cause. Everyone, and I mean EVERYone, knows now what a hottie you are. That cat is definitely out of the bag." She gestured to the TV, where Daria was shown futilely trying to gain entrance to the motel room, until Trisha Gupty brought her a bath towel from a maid's cart, and she managed to cover herself scant seconds before the first police cruiser arrived.

"Have I told you lately that I hate you?" Daria groused. "All that effort trying not to look like meat on the hoof, shot to hell. Now I'm just a fresh lamb chop for the wolf pack. Or rather, dork pack." She buried her face in her hands again.

Jane put a hand on her shoulder. "It was a noble sacrifice for a good cause, amiga. That's the bravest thing I've ever seen anyone do. I'm proud of you, I'm proud to be your friend, and if you weren't wearing those killer boots, I'd hug the crap out of you."

A bitter chuckle escaped Daria. "At least one part of my outfit still works."

Helen smiled at the good-natured badinage between Daria and her friend Jane, and thought again how blessed she was to have a daughter like Daria. She picked up the remote and switched channels. "Let's see if it's any better, or worse, on the other channels," she said as she brought up the volume.

"...USABS News has learned that, far from being a drug deal gone sour, as was first believed, what we are seeing here is actually the last act of a kidnapping drama. The male suspect, whose name is being withheld pending charges, allegedly kidnapped the two young children, whose names are being withheld because they are minors. An undercover policewoman, posing as the childrens' babysitter, is delivering the suitcase full of money that you see here to purchase the childrens' freedom. It is against police procedure to reveal the identities of their undercover operatives, but our source has informed us that the policewoman's name is Dora Mortenfurter. Watch now as a carload of undercover policewomen from the vice squad, disguised as prostitutes, stumbles onto the scene and 'queers the deal', as the undercover cops say."

"No, stupid, those are prostitutes disguised as high school students," jeered Daria.

"And your source is an idiot disguised as a moron," cackled Jane.

"They're slowly getting the story straight," Helen said, changing the channel. "It always takes them a while, especially with a complicated story."

This channel showed Daria in the car, the first glimpse of the children, and the kidnapper first emerging from the room. Helen shivered and rubbed her arms. "Every time I see you facing that horrible man, my blood just runs cold. Why on earth did you let yourself get pulled into such a dreadfully dangerous situation?"

"Like I said, Mom, I did it for Tad and Tricia. The kidnapper heard them call my name, and saw me running to tell the Guptys as he was driving away, so he demanded that I bring the money. Maybe he thought I'd be easier to dominate, or maybe he was mad that I raised the alarm so soon and had some thought of punishing me for it, I don't know. I accepted because I thought I had a better chance of recovering the children than either of the parents."

"Well, events proved you right, and the Guptys are hugely grateful to you for rescuing their children."

"I'll say. Did you manage to talk them out of selling their house and offering me the money as a reward?"

"Yes. I think they were just going to mortgage it. They've probably calmed down by now, but you can't blame them for feeling that way."

Daria sank back into the overly soft sofa back. "I guess. I just don't feel comfortable mixing money into it. All I wanted was to save Tad and Tricia. I'm as happy as they are that I managed to do that. I don't want any money for it."

Helen smiled a big motherly smile. "You make me so proud, Daria. I must have done something right raising you."

Daria glanced over at her mother and smiled a little in return. "I think you did. But no more hugs, please."

"Speaking of Guptys and money," Jane interjected, "Where did they get all that cash on such short notice?"

"It was from a fund raiser last night. They were going to put it in the bank this morning; that's why they wanted a babysitter," Daria replied. "Oog. Now you've got me thinking about what would have happened if Quinn had been here and taken the job."

Helen got a sort of haunted look. She shivered and hugged herself.

"A truly frightening thought. What sort of fundraiser?"

Daria shrugged. "Don't know. They didn't tell me."

"It was for the American Heritage Museum of Decorative Lawn Art," Helen replied. They intend to build it on the site of the old slaughterhouse south of town. Mrs. Gupty told me Congressman Sack is pretty sure he can slip an appropriation for it into the next budget."

Jane looked sick. "I'm sorry I asked."

"I thought their front yard **_was_** the Museum of Decorative Lawn Art," said Daria.

"You could say that," Helen said with what looked suspiciously like a smirk. "That and their garage. I think their motivation is that they want to clean out their garage, but can't stand to throw any of the stuff away. Don't tell anyone I said that."

"Well, I'm certainly glad I was able to save the start-up funds for such an historic project from that awful kidnapper," Daria deadpanned.

Helen glanced up, and her gaze fixed on the foot of the stairwell. Daria turned and looked. Quinn, on sock feet, had catfooted down the stairs and was approaching, eyes on Daria, looking uncomfortable.

"I, uh, I've been watching television upstairs. The news coverage of the, uh, incident."

"You and about half the planet, I expect," Daria grumped, turning back toward the screen.

"I..." Quinn winced and wrung her hands. "I feel awful."

Daria turned her head partly back toward Quinn and regarded her skeptically from beneath a lowered brow. "You do?"

"Every time I see you try to turn that knob, and knock, and call for someone to open the door, I feel like it's me out there, all naked and alone and locked out, and I know how you must have felt, but at the same time it's like I'm back there huddled in the bathroom with the others, and I hear you knocking and twisting the knob and I want to let you in, but I'm too scared to even get out of the bathroom, much less go and open the door 'cause I don't know what's happening out there, and I just feel like such a rotten little coward..." Quinn's voice note crept higher till it was almost a squeak, and she was on the verge of tears.

Daria somehow felt she should be standing for this, so she got to her feet. "I can understand that. Panic is contagious, and you certainly had plenty of carriers to catch it from."

"You must have felt just awful, standing out there all alone and nuh-, nu-,"

The corner of Daria's mouth turned up minutely. "Actually, I think the worst part was the Miss Nude Lawndale Teen pageant."

"Huh?"

"Locked in the bathroom naked with four of the prettiest girls in Lawndale. I left before the winner was announced , but I'm pretty sure it wasn't me."

Quinn made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Oh, Daria, can you ever forgive me?"

Daria looked down at her boots. "Yeah, Quinn, I ca- aack!" Quinn had closed the distance between them in an eyeblink and was hugging her fiercely.

After Daria had managed to untangle herself from Quinn, Helen said, "You know, Daria, Jane has a point. There's really no point in you continuing to wear that same outfit all the time."

Daria shot her a sideways look. Helen had never liked Daria's favorite outfit. "Well, actually there is. It would say, 'Hey, it's the same old me. I haven't changed.'"

Helen looked disappointed. "Oh, Daria..."

Daria thought about going to school Monday morning. What she wore wasn't really going to make much difference. What would make the difference was what every news program on TV was showing over and over. 'If it bleeds, it leads,' went the newsman's rule of thumb. If its hoo-hahs were hanging out, even better, she thought bitterly. Sex sells. She was bound to be the talk of the school. What kind of talk? Admiring? Congratulatory? Maybe. Suggestive? Boorish? Lewd? Probably. Stupid? Absolutely. Lots of stupid.

Daria looked down at her rather short black pleated skirt. It was an integral part of her look, and she liked it. On the other hand, a skirt wasn't the best choice to face a crowd of overstimulated high school boys in. She considered her boots. Keep the boots, definitely. Without them, she'd feel both naked and unarmed, and she could definitely picture situations in which they'd be very useful.

She said, "On the other hand, I wouldn't mind wearing jeans for a while, as long as they're not skin-tight. But I don't have anything to wear with them. These shirts I wear with my outfit don't go with blue jeans, and the few t-shirts I have are pretty old and faded."

"You're welcome to borrow any of my tops, Daria, and I'll help you pick some out."

"That's nice of you, Quinn, but all your tops are a pretty snug fit on you, and I'm pretty sure they'd be too tight on me to wear out in public. I like my clothes to be looser fitting."

"I have some polo shirts that will go with blue jeans," said Helen. "I think there are a few that won't be too big for you. Would you like to try them on?"

Daria stood up. "Yeah, sure."

"Uh, well, I guess I'll be going," said Jane.

"No, come on up, Jane. Bring Trent and the band. I totally lost my modesty this morning at the Dew Drop Inn."

"Daria!"said Helen.

"Sorry. That was uncalled for." Daria paused at the bottom of the stairs. "Really, come on up. I'm just a little bitter. I'll get over it. Someday. Probably."

-o0o-

Daria slipped the bathrobe off and pulled on her sleeping clothes. A long hot shower had alleviated some of the stress of the day, and the quiet clutter of her padded room was a restful haven of normalcy. As her computer's noises told her that it was completing its bootup sequence, she sat down at her desk to do a little writing. On an impulse, she launched her browser to see if she had any email. Yes she did, seven. She logged into her account, half-dreading that some reporter had found her email address. No, apparently not. Three were spam, one was from Amelia, and three were from Aunt Amy. Oh, damn, she must be frantic. She'd probably tried to call several times, but Helen had turned the phone off. Feeling guilty for not thinking of Amy sooner, she opened the last one.

It read:

Daria!

They just started showing the computer-enhanced footage, and I'm positive now that it's you. Are you all right? Are those kids all right? Whose kids are they? And what's the deal with Quinn and those other girls? One channel says you're hookers, one says you're dope dealers, one says you're undercover cops, and some of the other channels are just downright silly! PLEASE tell me what's going on!

Amy

Daria smiled a little as she started to type, and soon she had produced a brief summary of the day's events, answering most of the questions she thought Amy might ask, and sent it. As an afterthought, she copied it over into her diary file. A little extra typing converted it into an acceptable basic diary entry, although it still needed sarcasm and snarky comments. On impulse, she checked her email account again, and sure enough, there was an answer from Amy. She opened it.

Daria,

Well, isn't that just like a dumb Morgendorffer; bringing a toilet tank lid to a gun fight! ;) Seriously, kid, you scare the crap out of me sometimes, and that's not easy to do. I'll have to return the favor someday.

She skimmed down through most of it, and stopped at the last paragraph.

As to what you can do about it, that's a tough one. Probably not much. But remember the old wheeze 'When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.' You can't get your anonymity back, but you can take advantage of your notoriety. Many people who suddenly have fame (or infamy) thrust upon them write books. Maybe you could do that. Think about it.

Your favorite aunt,

Amy

Smiling, Daria shut down her desktop and headed for bed, but a thought stopped her. She peered out into the hallway, but no light showed underneath her parents' bedroom door. She sat back down at her desk, grabbed a small notepad, and wrote: Ask Mom how to find out what time the SSW camera crew called 911. Satisfied, she turned out her light and eased into bed.

-o0o-

Daria sat up in bed, managed to find the floor with her feet, and performed her customary early-morning exercise routine of stretching, scratching, blinking, rubbing, and yawning. Feeling much invigorated, she staggered briskly to the door and down the hallway toward the bathroom. Her keen senses detected a pronounced dimness of the light this morning.

Morning ablutions completed, Daria shuffled back down the hall to her room. Ah. Now she remembered. The dimness was due to all the curtains in the house being closed, and that was due to the media circus that had laid siege to Schloss Morgendorffer yesterday.

Daria peeked through a tiny gap between the curtains at the end of the hallway. Hmm, perhaps not a circus this morning, but there was definitely still a media carney out there.

Having dressed enough for lying around the house, Daria proceeded downstairs to breakfast. The television was off, for which she was grateful. The rest of the family was already up and working on pancakes and sausage. Seeing that there was a plate at her place and more pancakes and sausage available, Daria poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down to a round of good-mornings.

After a couple of bites of pancakes, Daria looked around her. Helen was wearing her 'my family all gathered 'round the table' smile and Jake was forted up behind the Lawndale Sun-Herald. Quinn, having eaten about a quarter of a pancake, seemed to be running an experiment to see how far a wedge of pancake could be dragged through lite syrup before it disintegrated. Her expression seemed to indicate that she was deeply saddened by the results so far.

Daria sighed, took a swig of coffee, and said, "Quinn? You all right?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure, why wouldn't I be?" Quinn replied, not looking up.

"Because you had a rough day yesterday, same as me?" Daria ventured, watching for clues.

"Well... hardly the same as you," Quinn said, taking her frail craft on another transit of the syrupy sea. Helen looked from Quinn to Daria and back to Quinn.

"Pretty much," Daria replied. "We were both captured by an armed and desperate criminal, both herded into that crummy little motel room at gunpoint, both forced to strip... by the way, thanks for the, uh, help... both locked in the bathroom. One difference is that I got in the last lick against him, which gave me a feeling of accomplishment. You didn't get that. You got treated horribly and frightened half to death, and you didn't get a chance to do anything about it. That would make me feel pretty rotten."

Quinn put down her fork and looked up at Daria. "Yeah, exactly! He pointed that gun at me and ordered me around and treated me like a, a..."

"Prisoner? Hostage? Animal? Piece of property?"

"Yeah, exactly!" Quinn said again. "And I kinda felt like I deserved to feel rotten, because of the way we barged in and could've gotten you and the children killed, and then I kinda felt like I didn't have the right to feel rotten because I didn't do anything to help, and that made me feel even rottener! That sounds really stupid, doesn't it?"

"No, that actually makes a lot of sense, which is kind of scary when you think of it," Daria said, smiling a little. Quinn hesitantly smiled back.

"Well, first of all, you shouldn't feel bad about barging in and putting us in danger. We were already in danger, and it was the kidnapper's fault, not yours. I guess you guys saw me driving that strange car and talking on that cell phone, and followed me to find out what was up."

"Yeah."

"Nothing wrong with that. Something was fishy and you wanted to find out what. You could just as well have showed up just in time to save our lives as how it worked out. I wish you hadn't showed up right then, but it's not your fault that you did. And he pulled his gun on you before you had time to figure out what was going on."

"Hmm, yeah, I guess you're right. But I still feel bad about hiding in the bathroom while you went charging out the door to save the day."

"Heh. Well, if all five of us had grabbed for the lid at the same time, or even both of us, it wouldn't have been helpful. And you had no way of knowing that he hadn't knocked me cold and wasn't waiting to shoot the next person who stuck her head out the door."

"So you're saying that I didn't really act so badly that I should be ashamed of myself."

"Right."

"Huh. Well, I guess I do feel a little better, but I think I still feel kinda bad."

"Well, you were captured by a vicious kidnapper, threatened with death, forced into a sleazy motel room, forced to take all your clothes off while he watched, and locked in a bathroom. I'd say you're entitled to feel not-so-great about that. You've got no reason to feel guilty, though."

"Hmm, yeah. Thanks, Daria," Quinn said. She smiled a little and turned her attention back to her plate.

Daria was about to get back to her own long-neglected pancakes when she got the feeling that she was being watched. Looking up, she discovered that both her parents were staring at her. Helen looked over to Quinn and then at Jake, and said, "Let's get ready and go to church this morning."

Jake stared back at her for a couple of seconds, then said, "Yeah, good idea. Finish your breakfast, girls."

Daria didn't object.

-o0o-

**Bad day at School**

Daria Morgendorffer looked glumly out the window of her mom's SUV at the quiet Lawndale neighborhood, and the sidewalk she used to walk to school on with Jane. Walking was pretty much out of the question for the time being, so she'd reluctantly called Jane and told her she'd meet her at school. Turning to look ahead again, she groaned as she saw more news crews ahead.

"Damn! They're here too!"

"You knew they would be. At least they're staying off school property."

"Yeah, but I've still got to get through them. Think you can help me with that?"

Helen studied the situation ahead. "It'll be my pleasure." She eased up to the semicircular drive, then leaned on her horn and revved her engine. The media jumped and scurried for safety.

Daria smiled at their discomfiture. "Thanks, Mom. Remember to check on that 911 call."

"Okay, sweetie. Have a good day."

_Not much chance of that._ "I'll try."

Daria disembarked from her mom's red SUV. _It suits her so well,_ she thought, as she turned toward the school entrance. _Needs a machine gun turret, though. _ She was immediately confronted with the smiling, or leering, face of Charles Ruttheimer III.

"Ah, the lovely Daria Morgendorffer, my favorite action hero! Perhaps if I'm lucky, you'll save my life someday!"

Daria's customary deadpan non-expression changed very subtly, into something more alarming. She cut the interpersonal space between her and Charles by two-thirds. "Well, perhaps today is your lucky day, Charles, because I'm going to tell you two facts that just might save your life this very day. Fact one: I am very unhappy about that video footage of me that every news channel in the world has been showing for the last two days. Fact two: the last man that I became unhappy with personally is still in the head trauma ward at Cedars, and hasn't regained consciousness yet."

"Bu-but I didnt..."

"Yes, I know you didn't say anything about that footage or my appearance in it..._yet_. And that's good. A word to the wise is sufficient, they say." She glanced around at some of the other students, many of whom were watching her. "Too bad there's such a dearth of the wise around here. Good morning, Charles."

Daria turned reluctantly toward the clump of students between her and Lawndale High's main entrance, and began to walk. The volume of background mumbling rose, but not the intelligibility. Then some senior boy she didn't know said, "Hey, Running Bare! Going to streak across our parking lot today?"

He was shoved aside by another senior, whom Daria vaguely recognized as being on the football team. "Shut up, asshole," he said. "Hey, Dora, what say you and me go out for dinner and a movie tonight? I'll take you to a way classier motel than the Dew Drop Inn, one that has lots of adult channels!"

Daria shrugged off her backpack, a move which drew several pairs of eyes to her chest. "Woah, nice pe--uunh!" Her suitor said, as he folded up. He'd never seen the knee that felled him. In a continuation of the same move, Daria swung her backpack around by one strap and caught the oaf who had made the streaking comment squarely in the side of the head. He staggered several steps sideways, then also went down. Taking advantage of the distraction, Daria ducked and shouldered her way through the remaining students and through the school doors.

Charles Ruttheimer III watched open-mouthed as the crowd parted to let her pass. "Rrowrrr! Ferocious!" he commented sagely.

In the gaggle of news crews standing just off school property, Eufaula Downing lowered the scope-sighted parabolic mike and said to her cameraman, "Wow. I got the audio, Joe, did you get the video?"

Joe sighed with irritation and kept rolling tape. "Of course," he said shortly. "Keep recording, just in case."

-o0o-

Daria put her tray down opposite Jane's at their usual lunch table. "Damn! I thought science class would never end! Barch seems to have an endless lecture on female superiority that she just cuts a chunk off of to fit the time available."

"What amazes me is how she can work it into any day's lesson plan," said Jane. "What was today's class supposed to be about, again?"

"The outer solar system, I think. It wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't used me as an example so many times. I felt like one of those specimens in the bottles of formaldehyde. I have a lot more sympathy for Chuck now."

"DeMartino was cool. He just smiled and gave you a thumbs up."

"Yeah. Why couldn't O'Neill have done something like that?"

"Ha! The last time he was cool was when he got lost in the blizzard on that camping trip. But this was the first time I can remember him making himself cry and run out of the room."

"He seemed to be trying to make some point about me overcoming adversity. I don't know if it was how close I came to being shot that he couldn't deal with, or the fact that I ran outside naked."

'We may never know," Jane smirked. "Last time I walked by Manson's office he was still blubbering."

"Uh, Daria?" The two friends looked up at a boy standing at the end of the table holding his lunch tray. "Hi, I'm Will Nodoff, in your math class. I was um, wondering if you'd like to go out with me sometime."

A muscle twitched at the corner of Daria's eye. She said, "It's nice of you to ask, Will, but this is kind of a bad time for me. I'm sure you understand."

"Uh, yeah, okay," he said, "Thanks, Daria."

"Hey, he's kind of cute," Jane said as he moved off.

"No, he isn't, and neither were the twelve before him."

"Well, he's not ugly, exactly."

"Exactly."

Jodie came up to the table. "Hi, mind if I join you?"

"Why, am I coming apart?" Jane replied. Daria groaned.

"Sure, have a seat. Maybe you'll appreciate my humor better than gloomypuss here."

Jodie put her tray on the table and sat next to Jane. "Well, I can't guarantee that..."

"Hey!"

"So how are you doing, Daria? How's fame treating you?"

"Oh, about like Monica Lewinski, although I'm not enjoying it as much," Daria replied, poking at her squash casserole.

"Come on. If I'd saved two children from a kidnapper, I'd be proud as hell of it."

"Oh, I am. It was the right thing to do, and I'd do it again. He was going to kill them, I know he was. The problem is that my rescuing Tad and Tricia from the kidnapper seems to completely escape most peoples' minds, and all they remember is me running across the parking lot of that sleazy motel naked. Even worse, I'll bet you half the boys in this school have that whole sequence on videotape, and the other half are trying to get it. And when they get it, they'll watch it over and over and over, till the tape wears out."

"Hey, not Mack!"

Daria looked up. "No, not Mack. And not Ted DeWitt-Clinton. His family doesn't own a TV. But name me another boy you're pretty sure doesn't have a copy."

"Uhh... hmm. That's a tough one. But look, I want to interview you for the Lowdown. It's your chance to tell your story your way, without the visuals. What do you say?"

"Jodie, maybe now isn't the best time..." Jane said.

Daria said, "No. It's all right. A paper has to be timely. And I can't pretend it didn't happen, as much as I'd like to sometimes. Tell you what, Jodie. Write out the questions, or email them to me, and I'll email you my answers tonight."

"Thanks, Daria, I'll do that," said Jodie as she stood up.

Daria watched her walk away. "Does she ever eat, or does she just carry her tray around from table to table until it's time for another class?"

-o0o-

Daria closed her locker, then waited till Jane finished at hers, then they moved down the exit doors, with the afternoon sunlight streaming through. Then, ten feet inside the open doors, she stopped. They were waiting for her, she could see them outside. They would swarm around her all the way home, and she wouldn't be able to escape them or their endless questions.

Her mind sought for a solution. She couldn't call one of her parents away from work just to save herself from inconvenience, and she didn't have enough money with her for a cab. Her thoughts were interrupted by an oleaginous voice from behind.

"In distress, fair damsels? Your knight in shining armor offers his services."

She turned, knowing what she would see. Upchuck stood there, smiling his trademark smarmy smirk. She looked at him, thinking.

His smirk faded and he began to fidget under her deadpan gaze. "I just want to help," he said.

"Is your car here?"

"Yes indeed."

"Okay, bring it around to, um, the backstage auditorium entrance. We'll meet you there."

Daria peeked out the backstage door. Outside was a small loading dock with a set of steps at the end. Chuck's small econobox sedan pulled up at the bottom of the steps. He saw Daria peeking out. Looked around him, and motioned to her to come on.

"Come on, he's here," she said to Jane, and the two slipped out the door, down the steps, and into the car.

"Where to, ladies? Pizza Prince? My house for a soda? We have a pool, you know."

Daria sighed. "Not today, Chuck. If you'll take Jane home and then drop me on the opposite side of the block from my house, that would be nice." Daria crouched down in the floorboards and Jane, after a bit of thought, followed suit.

"So, uh, was your afternoon any better than your morning?" he asked.

Daria's muffled voice came from the back seat. "No. Phys Ed was actually the high point of my day because there weren't any boys around. I could tell some of the girls were talking about me, but they had the rudimentary decency to make an effort to hide it."

"The harridans. They're obviously jealous. You can straighten up now."

The girls returned to a normal seated posture. Jane said, "the excitement will wear off and everything will return to normal pretty soon."

"I don't know. You know what I kept hearing? 'What was she doing at that motel in the first place? She must be a whore or at least a slut." If they're so stupid that they can't understand that I was just taking the ransom money where I was ordered to take it, there's no hope for them."

"Well, if they're that stupid, you don't care what they think in any case, right? But I heard a lot of people saying that what you did was really brave."

"A lot of the guys said that, too," Chuck put in.

"That's not what they were mostly saying, though, is it?" Daria asked.

"Well..."

"Go ahead."

"Well, they frequently expressed admiration for your... excellent figure."

"To clean it up as much as possible without losing the meaning entirely."

"Some of them don't exactly have a way with words."

"So basically, the guys are mostly discussing my various physical attributes like I was on the block in a slave market, and the girls are calling me all the synonyms of whore because they're jealous that the guys are talking about me. Great. I think I'll just homeschool myself the rest of the way through high school. I can finish in a third of the time, take a long vacation, and start college early."

Just then, a cell phone rang. Chuck fished it out of his shirt pocket, flipped it open, and said "Hello." He listened for several seconds, then said, "Hold on," and pushed a button. He looked at Daria. "It's some woman named Abigail Huntington. She called me once before and wanted me to put you in touch with her. She's interested in your Melody Powers books. What should I tell her?"

Daria could feel little tiny hairs standing up all over her body. "Interested? In what way?"

"She's an editor at a publishing house. She called me after I mentioned your Melody stories to an interviewer. I hope that wasn't the wrong thing to do."

"Uhh... no, I guess not." Daria held out a hand. "Let me talk to her." She took the cell phone, hesitated a bit, and said, "Hello? I'm Daria Morgendorffer. ...yes... ...yes, they're in the action-adventure genre... I've written fifteen or so short stories and two novels. ...'Blood Oath of Patriots' is the first, then there's 'Red Star Bleeding'. That one's in the middle of the second edit now. ...well, it'll take me some time to get them printed up and mailed to... Sure, I could email them to you in about an hour, I just have to get home, run the media gauntlet, and fire up the computer. ...Oh, I'd say it's between awful and horrible. Let me just write down your email address..." Daria pulled out a pen and her ever-present notebook and began to write. "While you're waiting, most of my short stories are on my website, quickly looked over her most recent version of Blood Oath Of Patriots and deleted a few notes at the end. Then she zipped the file and opened her email program. Typing a short email in the style of a cover letter, she attached the zipped file and sent it to the address Abigail Huntington had given her.

She was starting the more time-consuming task of cleaning up the Red Star Bleeding file when she heard the front door open and a babble of questions, followed by Quinn's "Leave me _alone!_" and the door slamming. _Now she'll probably turn the TV on loud and channel surf till she finds something about clothes or makeup,_ she thought.

But Quinn called out, "Anybody home? Daria?"

_Cripes. What does she want with me? Forget it, I don't want to know. I need to get this fixed up and shipped out._

Quinn was coming up the stairs. "Daria? Are you here? Can I talk to you?"

_Why don't you talk to the fashion club?_ "I'm not home," she mumbled, so low she could barely hear it herself.

She could hear Quinn's footsteps in the hall._ Closer she came. Step by step, inch by inch..._

"Daria, I know you're in there. I can hear you typing."

_Dammit. _ "Occupant has moved and left no forwarding address."

"Daria, I need to talk to someone. Come on, you're my sister."

"We're sorry. All your sisters are busy at the moment. However, your whining is important to us. Please wait in the hall until Mom and Dad beget another sister. Thank you."

Quinn opened the door and entered. "Ewww, guh-_ross!_" She came over to Daria's desk. "Geez, Daria, don't you do anything but fiddle with that computer?"

"I wish. Note to self: rig shotgun to bedroom door."

Quinn sat on Daria's bed. "Daria, you gotta _help_ me! Today was the worst day of my _life! _ People were saying all kinds of awful things about me and the rest of the fashion club, and I don't know what to _do!_"

"Really."

"Yeah! Some people said we were hookers and that guy was our pimp and he was mad because we were holding out on him!"

"Huh."

"Yeah! And then somebody else said maybe he was somebody else's pimp, and he was mad at us for moving in on his turf!"

"Hmm."

"Can you believe it? And then I heard Randy telling Corey that we were dope dealers and that guy was our supplier and we found out he was gonna try to rip us off so we hired you to rub him out."

"Goodness."

"But this is the worst! You're not gonna believe this! I overheard Imelda telling Brooke that she'd heard that we were all making porn at that motel, and we were buying Tad and Tricia from that guy to... Daria, are you listening to me?"

"You don't say."

"DAriaa!"

Daria slammed both her palms down on her desk, making Quinn jump. Swiveling around in her chair, she glared at Quinn and shouted "WHAT!"

Quinn cowered back in the corner, getting her boots on Daria's sheets, and wailed, "I just wanted you to _help_ me! I was telling you about all the _awful things_ they were saying about me, and you _yelled_ at me and _scared_ me..."

Daria took a deep breath and let it out in a gusty sigh. "Quinn, I'm doing something very important here. I have to get this manuscript cleaned up and shipped out as soon as possible. This could be my big break."

Quinn sniffed and wiped at her eye, where no tear had been visible. "But what about me?"

"It sounds to me like you have a PR problem. I know very little about PR. But Mom's legal firm has a PR expert on staff. Why don't you ask Mom if maybe she can ask their PR person?"

"Oh! Hey, that's a good idea! Thanks, Daria!" Quinn bounced out of the room.

Daria thought, _Sorry about that, Mom_, as she resumed her work.


	4. Ch 4 Let's Make A Deal

**KIDNAPPED  
Chapter Four  
Let's Make A Deal  
…..**

Finished. Daria saved her work as 'Red Star Bleeding sentAbi', modified a copy of the cover letter she'd used for Blood Oath, zipped and attached a copy of the novel, and emailed it off to Abigail Huntington. Sighing gustily, she went limp in her chair.

"Finished?"

"Aaah!"

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Are you finished with the important thing?" Quinn was standing in the doorway, where she'd evidently been for some time, looking for all the world as if she had no intention of inducing heart failure in her sister.

"Yes, I'm finished. What did Mom say?"

"After I finally got to talk to her, she said that Wanda, that's their PR person, was very busy on something, and that she'd ask her about my problem when she could, but she didn't know when that would be, and that she was very busy today too and she'd probably be home late and we should warm up some leftovers."

"Pizza?"

"Sounds good. But it sounds like Wanda isn't going to be much help. Isn't there anything else we can do?"

"Hmm, maybe. I didn't want to do this, but it looks like our best option at this point."

"What?"

"I'm going to call a press conference."

"Eep! Are you sure?"

Daria got up and walked to the door. "I have an idea how I can ease into it, sort of test the waters."

"Um, well, if you think so. We need to do something."

"I'll just straighten my hair a little, and you can watch on TV while you order the pizza. I like pepperoni and sausage, and Dad likes Garbage."

"Hee. I'll help you with your hair. You should let me make you up."

"Uh, I don't think so."

"You need to wear enough makeup so that it looks like you're not wearing any, Daria."

"Hmm, tell you what. I'm just going out for a few seconds the first time, and when I come back in, I'll let you make me up a little for the actual conference. I decide whether I'll keep it, though."

"Fair enough."

…..

Daria opened the front door and stepped put. A hush fell over the street. She strode purposefully down the walk toward the curb. The minions of the media were arrayed just beyond it, held at bay by fear of Helen. There arose a mighty arglebargle of questions.

Daria stopped a few feet from the curb and raised her hands, one of which held a legal pad. Not-quite-silence fell. She said, "I will answer ten questions."

There arose a second mighty arglebargle of questions. Daria silently counted to ten and then raised her hands again. "These are the rules. You all get together and select the ten questions you want me to answer, and write them on this legal pad. Then **one**of you comes to the door and hands them to me. I will read over them inside, and then come out and answer them. The response 'I'm not going to answer that question' counts as an answer. So think of the questions you most want me to answer before your cameras, and then write down the questions you think I'm most likely to answer. Understood?"

A babble arose, the gist of which seemed to be that ten questions wasn't enough. Daria waited a few seconds and then raised her hands again. "Ten questions is enough for now. I'll see how it goes, and if you people don't trash what's left of my reputation, I might take more questions later." She stepped forward and handed the legal pad and a pencil to a woman holding a microphone. As she turned and headed back up the sidewalk, the clamor of questions and protestations arose again. She turned and said, "Here are four free answers. My name is Daria Morgendorffer, I live here, I'm seventeen, and I'm a senior at Lawndale High." She turned, walked up the sidewalk, and into the house.

…..

Daria sat crosslegged on a love seat, studying the ten questions on the legal pad, and half listening to SNN news. Three talking heads were discussing her brief appearance of a few minutes ago. One was accusing her of trying to 'manage the news', a second was saying that the first, and others like her, was just peeved because Daria had shown a little 'spunk' and not just rolled over for the media, and the third was egging them both on. He concluded by saying that they would cut back as soon as there were any developments in this "breaking story".

"Wow, Daria, how does it feel to know that the whole world is waiting for you to walk out that door again?" Quinn asked.

Daria snorted delicately. "Well, if I'm the top "breaking story", it would seem to mean that the rest of the world is in pretty good shape at the moment," she replied. "But since I know that's not the case, it must mean that these guys have no sense of proportion."

"So what should the top story be?"

"Oh, global warming, AIDS, SARS, killer asteroids, slavery, fire ants, kudzu... I'd say any number of things are more important than when I'll go outside and whether I'll see my shadow."

"Maybe they're more important, but you're more interesting. You're what the people want to see. Make good use of your fifteen minutes of fame, Daria."

"Huh. Aunt Amy said something like that." Daria returned her attention to the list of questions. It amused her slightly that there were another ten questions on the sheet below it, headed 'spare questions'. In case one or more of the first ten went flat, she supposed. But there was a clear pattern here, among all the questions, that told her she needed to deviate from the rules she'd just laid down. _What will the pundits opine about that,_ she wondered. She slipped a red felt tip marker into her pocket and rose.

"Here we go. Roll tape." Legal pad in hand, Daria headed for the front door.

Quinn slipped a video cassette into the VCR. "Good luck. I mean, break a leg," she said.

Daria smiled wryly as she opened the door. _Way to go. You managed to jinx me either way. Good thing I'm not superstitious, knock wood._

Daria walked down toward the crowd at the curb. They hoisted big videocameras to their shoulders, aimed mikes, and some turned on fill lights. Behind them, jogging up the street, a red-jacketed figure caught Daria's eye. She suppressed a smile as Jane arrived and insinuated herself into the back of the crowd, grinning like a possum under a persimmon tree. _Come to see me knock 'em dead, Jane? Or make a fool of myself on live worldwide TV? Great entertainment either way, right, amiga?_ Jane never took her completely seriously, and Daria found that strangely comforting.

Someone set a stand on the sidewalk where Daria had stood last time. It had at least forty microphones and microcassette recorders clipped, taped, or otherwise fastened to it. A hubbub of questions arose as Daria approached it. Daria raised her hands for silence, and got it. Jane's grin widened.

"Having read your ten questions," Daria placed a tiny emphasis on 'ten' and paused, which elicited some nervous laughter, "and your set of 'spare questions'", more laughter, "I see I need to do something other than just answer them." Groans ensued. Jane's grin got painfully wide. "So I'm going to start off by briefly describing the events of last Saturday morning, from my viewpoint. This will answer most of the first ten questions, and some of the second ten, and others you didn't ask. After that, I will answer the rest of the first ten questions."

This brought on a general murmur of approval, and a couple of faint 'yays'.

"Last Saturday morning, I was hired to babysit two young children for a couple of hours. I had almost reached their house when..."

"...and forced us all to take off our clothes, and then locked us in the bathroom. I believed that he almost certainly intended to kill the children, so I broke out of the bathroom using the lid from the toilet tank. I ran out into the parking lot just as he was about to leave, and was able to render him unconscious with the toilet tank lid before he could bring up his gun and shoot me. Shortly after that the police arrived."

Daria paused for breath, and Jane began clapping hard. Other spectators in the rear of the media pack took it up, and a couple of whistles were heard. A few of the media picked it up, and at some point peer pressure reached critical mass and everyone who didn't have his or her hands full began to clap. Jane grinned delightedly.

As the applause began to die down, Daria waved the legal pad in the air and quiet returned. "Okay, as for the rest of these questions," she said, checking off several with the red felt tip pen, "Question four: How did you feel when you saw the motel room door close, and also when the other girls wouldn't let you back in?" She took a breath and exhaled. "I almost decided not to answer this one. I always hate it when I see someone on TV who's just had something bad happen to him, and someone runs up and sticks a mike and a camera in his face and says 'How do you feel?' But I will. I felt pretty bad. I was terribly embarrassed. And when they wouldn't open the door, I felt really low. But I can't blame them for not opening the door. They were pulling their clothes out from under the bed and trying to get dressed, and they didn't know what was happening outside. For all they knew, the first person to open the door would be shot.

"Question five: Who are these other girls? I don't think it's my place to identify them. I'll let them introduce themselves if they want to. Suffice it to say that they are also high school students who knew me well enough that when they saw me drive by, they realized that the car and the cell phone weren't mine, and they followed me out of curiosity and a feeling that something wasn't quite right."

"Question eight: Weren't you frightened when you ran out that door to face an armed kidnapper? Yes! I was frightened the whole time, and when I ran out the door I was terrified. I felt like the common sense part of me was locked up in the back of my head somewhere, screaming its lungs out. It couldn't believe I was doing that."

Daria checked these questions off, and folded back the top sheet of paper. "There's a question on this second sheet that I'd like to answer. 'How do you feel about the repeated airing of the tape segment of you in the parking lot naked?' I don't like it. I'm not an exhibitionistist. I didn't do that out of choice. I did it because I felt I had to to save those children. I'm actually a shy, modest person, and I hate seeing that tape shown over and over, and being powerless to do anything about it. I don't have any law to propose that would stop media abuse of innocent citizens, and maybe there shouldn't be such a law. I don't know. It just seems to me that at some point, you should stop showing it out of common decency." She checked off the question, handed the pad to one of the media people, and turned back to the house.

…..

Jane caught up with Daria as she walked back up her front walk. "You give good press conference, Morgendorffer. Where'd you learn that?"

"Eh, I just took advantage of the fact that they're desperate for anything from me. You know, now that they see us together after you led the cheering, they're gonna figure you're my paid shill."

"I am. You're paying me in pizza, remember?"

Daria opened the door. "Oh, yeah. Well, come on in, shill, and let's catch the instant replay while we're waiting for your payoff to get here."

They walked over and sat on the sofa. Quinn was watching TV from the far love seat as the opinionati began to analyze Daria's press conference. "You looked good out there, Daria," she said.

Daria smiled. "Well, it's all in the..."

"You see, that's what just the right makeup can do for you," Quinn concluded.

Daria looked at Quinn for a second before saying, "Oh, I see." Jane smirked but said nothing.

The phone rang. Apprehensively, Daria picked it up and said, "Hello?"

"This is Abigail Huntington. Daria Morgendorffer?"

"Speaking."

"Daria, I just finished reading 'Blood Oath Of Patriots' and I want to publish it. I'm going to offer you the contract I offer my established authors, basically a fifty thousand advance against seven percent of sales. I've emailed you a contract, but I'm recommending you get an agent."

"An agent?"

"Yes. You see, I want the North American book rights to your book, but you're also going to be trying to sell various overseas rights, ancillary rights, and particularly, movie rights."

"M" Daria's voice came out as a choked squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Movie rights? You think?"

"Blood Oath' is just the kind of book the major Hollywood studios buy to make into a movie. I'd say there was a better than even chance someone will want the movie rights, and every evil thing you've ever heard about Hollywood contracts is true. You'll absolutely need an experienced agent to deal with those people. I sent you a list of four agents who represent authors of similar books, know the ropes in Hollywood, and whom I consider trustworthy. I also sent you the addresses of some websites where you can find other agents."

"Uh, thanks..."

"That's not to say they'll actually produce it. They buy or option the rights to twenty or more books for every one that gets made."

"Oh."

"And another thing. I recommend you think about getting a publicist. Your agent can help you with that."

"...A p...publicist?"

"Yes. I'm watching your press conference right now, and it looks to me like you did very well, but the way you handle yourself and interact with the media right now, while the spotlight is still on you, will make a big difference in your future book sales, and in how badly the big studios are going to want it. You need someone to be getting you interviews on the news shows and later, on the late-night talk shows and stuff like that. Go look at what I sent you, Daria, and I'll go start reading 'Red Star Bleeding."

Jane was watching Daria and trying unsuccessfully to guess at the other end of the conversation she was having. It wouldn't be accurate to say that Daria wore a strange expression, but something seemed to be placing a strain on her poker face. Daria hung up the phone. Jane was about to ask a question when she jumped up and ran upstairs. Jane sat there gawking, then shut her mouth and did likewise.

…..

Jane ran down the hallway and halted halfway into Daria's bedroom. Daria was seated at her desk waiting impatiently for her computer to boot up. Her fists were making minute pounding motions on her desktop.

"What's up?"

"Contract."

"Contract?"

"Book contract."

Jane stepped forward as Daria seized her mouse and began zipping and clicking it rapidly. Jane managed to identify an email on the monitor screen just before Daria began scrolling through it at a speed she'd swear no mortal man could read. But Daria's eyes were locked onto the monitor. Suddenly the scrolling stopped, her finger flew to the screen and she inhaled sharply. Jane looked closer. Right above Daria's fingernail was the figure 50,000.00.

"Omigosh! Someone wants to give you fifty large for your book? Who? Are you gonna take it?"

"The woman I talked to on the phone in Chuck's car. That's the advance she's offering. Damn, she must read faster than I do."

"Advance? You mean you'll actually get more? How much?"

"Don't know. What they're actually offering me is seven percent of sales, however much that might be."

"Well, what do you think? Is that a fair offer or a ripoff?"

"It's a better offer than I ever thought I'd get for my first book. See, unpublished authors are almost never offered that big an advance. It means that, for some reason, they're almost sure they can sell more than, ummm... 715,000 copies. No, no, that's not right. 89 thousand something copies, figuring an eight dollar paperback. That's a lot of books." Daria stared at the screen, marveling at the thought. "A lot of books. And she thinks Blood Oath can do it."

Jane forebore to comment on Daria doing her human calculator thing. It gave her the creeps, but no more than the extreme speedreading. "Think it has anything to do with your recent and current appearance on the news?"

Daria snorted. "Of course. It has everything to do with it. Ms. Huntington figures I'll be getting interviewed, and doing appearances on talk shows, and I'll be able to plug the book. She said I need a publicist to help me do that. Yikes."

"Yikes indeed. This is happening kinda fast."

"Yeah. Aunt Amy said I should use my notoriety. Looks like she was right."

Jane watched as Daria scanned through more of what the editor had sent her for a minute, then asked, "So do you trust this person? Are you going to go with her recommendations?"

Daria continued to study the screen. "I basically trust her, because what she wants from me is a series of books, each one selling more copies than the last as my popularity grows. That's what an editor hopes for every time she begins a relationship with an author. If she cheated me or did me wrong some other way, the most she'd get would be one book. And these websites are places I'd've gone to sooner or later anyway looking for info on how to find a good agent. But let's put this aside for a moment..." Daria brought up the familiar Gargle screen, typed in "literary agents" and clicked the search button. A pageful of results popped up. Daria's cursor lit on an entry halfway down. "Ah. 'Hints on avoiding dishonest, incompetent, and marginal literary agents,' and it's on a Writers' Association website, so it should be trustworthy. Ya gotta love search engines."

ooooo

Several minutes later, the doorbell rang, followed by Quinn calling out, "Daria! Pizza's here! You got the money?"

Daria put her computer in sleep mode, grabbed some money, and they came downstairs. As the pizza guy was leaving, Daria saw Jake arrive at the end of the driveway and begin laying on his horn. Daria was glad he had his windows rolled up, and hoped none of the media people could read lips.

They were just finishing their first pieces of pizza when Helen came in, somewhat earlier than expected. She frowned slightly when she saw the pizza boxes. "Jake, I told the girls to warm up some leftovers." Jake got a 'guilty of being male' look, but Daria said, "Dad's innocent. I'll take the rap for this one."

"Daria, we eat out or order out too much as it is. I'm not made of money, you know, and neither is your father."

Daria smiled. "It's on me."

Helen's look changed to a wry smile. "That's nice, but it won't really be 'on you' until you have a job and are earning your own money."

Daria's smile got bigger. She got up and handed Helen a few sheets of paper from the counter. When Helen looked puzzled, she pointed to a figure halfway down one sheet. Helen's eyes widened and she staggered back a half-step to lean against the end of the counter. Daria took a loose grip on her elbow just in case. She noticed that Jane was grinning around a slice of pizza.

Helen quickly scanned the document. "This is a book contract."

"Yep."

"You haven't signed it," Helen said with some relief.

"No, but that figure kind of puts a floor under what the book is worth."

"This is the book that your father and I read a few months back?"

"Yep."

"I... I don't know what to say..."

"Have a seat. Have some pizza."

"Hey, what's going on? Why wasn't I told?" Jake demanded.

Daria handed him the contract printout. "I was just waiting for Mom to get home so I could tell everybody at once."

"What about me?" said Quinn.

"You were here when the call came in, but here it is in a nutshell. Quinn, I'm going to be rich and famous before you."

Quinn looked stricken. "Mo-om! Daria's ruining my li..." she glanced from Helen, who was starting to frown at her, to Daria and Jane, who were smirking, to Jake, who looked puzzled, back to Helen. "You can't let..."

"See," Daria said to Jane, "I told you she'd be happy for me."

Quinn stared into her plate, her head in her hands. "Oh, freaking great. Not only is school avast with nasty rumors about me, not only is my reputation trampled in the tarnish, now my nerdy sister is world famous and about to get famouser, and rich into the bargain bin. My life is _doodoo!_"

Daria said, "Oh, yeah, Mom, did you get to talk to Wanda about those rumors?"

"Briefly. She called them 'mushrumors' because they grow in the dark, where the light of facts doesn't hit them. She says they'll disappear when the facts come out. Which reminds me, she saw your news conference and said you did very well. She said she couldn't have handled the media any better herself. I wish I'd gotten to see it."

"Another bouquet of posies for Daria," Quinn groused.

Daria frowned. "Quinn, are you forgetting that the reason I did that press conference was to get some facts out and squash those rumors? I was doing it for you."

Quinn looked unhappily down at the floor and didn't say anything.

"What's this about a press conference?" Jake asked, nibbling on a jalapeño pepper.

"I answered some questions for the media about the kidnapping," Daria replied. "Quinn taped it."

"I don't understand why you're having so much more trouble with these rumors than Daria is, Quinn," said Helen.

Daria got an annoyed look, but before she could say anything, Jane spoke up. "She isn't, Mrs. M. Daria got it twice as bad all day long. It would've been even worse if she hadn't decked those two neanderthals first thing this morning."

"She what!"

Jake said, "Oh, yeah, right after you dropped her off, honey, out in front of the school. Didn't you see it? They've been showing it all day!" He smiled at Daria. "I'm proud of you, kiddo! I just wish I'd been there to do it myself!"

"Jake! We're not raising our daughters to go around assaulting people!"

"You wouldn't say that if you'd heard what they said to her! She did the right thing, Helen. And she did it so well!" Jake beamed.

Helen gave Jake, then Daria, a skeptical look, then shook her head. "Well, I'll catch up with the latest adventures of Captain Video here later." She sat down and selected a slice of pizza. "Right now I'm hungry."

Daria took a sip of her soda and helped herself to another slice. "Oh, Jane, don't let me forget, I owe Jodie an interview."

"What's this?" Helen asked.

"For the school paper. She said she'd email me the questions. I need to send her the answers tonight so she can get them into the next edition of the Lowdown. And then I need to do more reading up on... on second thought, I'm going to give myself the rest of the night off. I'll worry about finding an agent and everything else tomorrow."

"You'll consult with your mother and me before you do anything, won't you? I am a professional consultant, after all." Jake said.

"Yes, Dad, I will."

"I can't believe you had to fight your way into that school," Helen said. "I hate to drop you off alone there tomorrow."

"When we walk to school together I always keep the riffraff off her," said Jane.

Daria cocked an eyebrow at her. "Yeah, I always feel much safer when you're around, Jane," she said sardonically. "Could you possibly sleep over and ride to school with me in the morning?"

"Good thing I'm wearing my high boots," Jane muttered so low that only Daria could hear her. In a normal voice she said, "Sure, I guess I could, if I go back to the house and get some stuff, and if it's okay with your folks."

"You bet, Jane-o! You're always welcome here!" Jake said.

"Oh goody, we'll have such fun," Daria said mock enthusiastically. "We'll tell scary stories and give Quinn a makeover."

"Eek! Over my dead body!"

"A full dead body makeover it is,then," Jane smirked.

"Eewww! Mo-om!"

"I'm trying to eat here," Helen complained.

"So, uh, Kiddo, what are you planning to do tomorrow?" Jake asked.

"Research. I need to find a good agent as soon as possible. I'll probably need to go to the library and/or a bookstore in addition to searching the Internet."

"Ah. So, uh, you're not going to be whacking anyone else on TV?"

"I certainly hope not."

"That's good. And, um, you're not going to be giving any more press conferences?"

"Well, I was thinking I might answer a few more questions if the media hasn't been twisting the answers I already gave them all out of shape. But then I thought maybe it would be better to wait and ask my agent, if I can get one pretty soon."

"But you'll consult with us first."

"Of course, Dad."

Jane covered a burp with her napkin, finished her drink, and stood. "Well, guess I'll run over to the house and get my jammies and stuff, if I can get past the hungry hordes out there."

"I'll be glad to run you over," Jake said.

"Uhh, exactly how does he mean that?" Jane stage whispered to Daria.

Smiling slightly, Daria replied, "I'm pretty sure he means with you inside the car, rather than under it. I'll ride along and bring Trent some pizza."

"Take it all," said Helen.

"All of it? Then what'll we have for breakfast?"Daria asked.

"Yeah!" Jane smirked.

"We'll have breakfast food, like normal people," Helen said disapprovingly.

"Hmph. Well, at least Trent will get a good breakfast," Daria picked up the pizza boxes and they left via the side patio door.

ooooo

Daria lay in her bed staring up at the cracks in the ceiling, which she couldn't see in the dark. There was a faint rustling from the floor, then: "So how does it feel?"

Daria smiled invisibly. "A little saggy in the middle, and there's a bit of a lump under my right shoulder."

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"My cheap mattress. What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about success and fame as an author, dingbat!"

"How would I know that? I haven't even signed a contract, much less seen a review or done a book signing."

"But you've got an offer, a damn good offer according to you. Even if you sign it as is, no dickering, you get a buttload of money and they print trainloads of your book, right? You're already over the toughest hurdle, right?"

"Hmf. I wish. Well, I guess you could say that I'm over the easiest half of the toughest hurdle. The tough part comes when the book hits the stores. People have to actually pick it up off the shelf, pull out their money, and pay for it. If that happens, they'll let me try and do it again."

"But your editor thinks that's pretty much a slam dunk, right? You said she must be pretty sure it'll sell, what, ninety thousand or more?"

Daria sighed. She could feel goosebumps starting to form. "Yeah, she thinks so, but editors are often wrong. You know how many books make it into print but don't break even? Nine out of ten. And most of 'em are damn good books, too. I have a shelf full of 'em from the bargain bins at Books By The Ton."

"Nine out of ten? Damn. How does the publishing industry stay afloat?"

"Just barely."

"Geez, I didn't know writing was such a tough business."

"Oh, yeah. Better books than Blood Oath have ended up in those bargain bins, and better authors than me have ended up bitter drunks and burnouts."

"Damn, Daria! You sound like you're ready to throw in the towel already!"

"Well, I'm not. I"m gonna use every trick I know, fair and foul, and I'm gonna learn a lot more, and use them too. I'm gonna milk my fleeting notoriety for all it's worth, and I'm gonna flog Blood Oath every chance I get, till it either goes big or drops dead. And even if it does wind up on the remainder table, I'll take a thousand copies, and I'll sell 'em on my website, and I'll give 'em to everyone I know for Christmas, and I'll sell 'em on the street corner if I have to."

"Ah, now that's more like the Daria Morgendorffer we all know and fear. Mad as a hatter!"

"It's hereditary. Now go to sleep so I can sneak up on you with this hatchet."

ooooo

"Well, there goes another hour of my life that I can never get back," Daria remarked as they exited Ms. Barch's science lab.

"Look on the bright side. One less hour we'll have to put up with the harpy," Jane rejoined. "Ready to endure the horrors of government-inflicted nutrition?"

"I want to talk to Quinn for a second first. She always visits her locker before PE class. I'll see you at the table."

"Naah, I'll just trail along. It's not like I can't wait to sink my teeth into the lowest-bidder mystery meat."

"Stop. You're making me drool."

Ahead they could see Quinn dialing in her locker combination as Stacy stood by, glancing anxiously around. As they approached, Stacy spotted them and moved to keep Quinn between herself and Daria. Quinn opened the locker, then looked up to see what had spooked Stacy this time. Frowning, she shoved her backpack in and closed the locker.

"What do you want?" Quinn muttered.

"To find out what rumors you're hearing today," said Daria.

"They've pretty much dried up. There was this one dimwit saying something about Arab slavers, but when we cornered him and demanded details, he couldn't say who was supposed to be selling whom to who, or whatever. What we have been getting is just about every guy in school asking us if we were really naked in that motel room. It's creepy and stupid."

"Which is also a pretty good description of just about every guy in school," Jane pointed out.

"I guess you could say that. Looks to me like your press conference yesterday helped, Daria. How about you?"

"Similar. No more rumor problem, but now all the guys are wanting autographs."

Quinn frowned. "Oh, yeah, that's right, you're world famous. Thanks so much for reminding me."

"I'll trade you. Remember, they don't have to ask me if I was naked. They've all seen for themselves." Daria turned and headed for the cafeteria, followed by Jane.

ooooo

"Damn, isn't there some sort of law against serving chili mac more than once a week?" Daria growled as she nibbled at her peas and carrots.

"Spoken like someone who knows there's food in the fridge at home," Jane observed. "You gonna eat that?"

"Be my guest. Ah, here comes Jodie. Play your cards right and you won't have to dumpster dive tonight."

"Oh, how sharper than a serpent's tooth. Hey, Jodie."

"Hi, Jane, Daria. Did you get a copy of today's Lowdown?"

"Not yet. Anything good in there?" Daria asked, smiling slightly.

"You should hurry up and grab one. They're going fast. I think the media are taking them for my interview of you. I wouldn't be totally surprised if it got picked up by one of the wire services."

"Gee, Jodie, if I didn't know better, I'd think you enjoyed being editor of the Lowdown," Jane smirked. "You sound almost like you're having fun."

"Well, I have no plans for a career in journalism, and no one's ever accused me of having printer's ink in my veins, but sometimes I get a kick out of it. Don't tell anyone, but there are three things I'd really like to do while I'm with the Lowdown. Have a story or article picked up by the big media, put out an extra, and... well, just two things, I guess."

Jane raised a skeptical eyebrow and grinned. "Come on, Jodie, what's the third thing?"

Jodie looked down at her plate. "It's silly."

Daria smiled. "Let me guess. Yell "Stop the presses!"

"Ack! How'd you know?"

"Just a guess. It's what I'd want to do."

"Well, you're right. Maybe I'll get to yell "Stop the laser printer" someday. Why didn't you ever join the paper, Daria? I know you're interested in journalism."

"I have a low b.s. tolerance. I couldn't have put up with all the sports b.s., the school spirit b.s., and especially Ms. Li's b.s. There would've been a war."

Jodie grinned. "A guerilla war, I'm thinking."

"You know me well." Daria rose and picked up her tray. "Well, I've managed to get permission to spend PE and study hall in the computer lab today, since it's for the ' honor of Lawwndaale Highhh.' I may as well get in there a little early. See you guys later."

Jodie watched her walk away. "Well, that's odd."

Jane said, "Yeah. Usually you're the one who has something more important to do than eat."

Jodie jumped up. "Oh, shoot! I gotta go!"

"I'll take your tray back for you."

"Thanks, Jane!" Jodie called as she ran off.

Jane watched her hurry out the door, then picked up her untouched plate and exchanged it for her own.


	5. Chapter Five

KIDNAPPED  
Chapter Five  
………

Daria stood by Jane's locker as Jane loaded up her backpack to go home for the day. Then they'd hit her locker and...

"Good afternoon, ladies. Girding yourselves to face the slavering hordes of the fifth estate?"

Daria turned. It was, of course, Upchuck. "Oh, hell. I'd almost forgotten about the paparazzi. I wonder how many are still out there."

"About twenty all told, including three packing big video cameras. But I and my noble steed are at your service, as ever. Let me take you away to the Golden Pagoda, or the Olive Grove, or...Chez Pierre!"

"I've got a lot of research to do today, Charles."

"Then let me take you to the library, or anywhere you want to go."

Jane closed her locker and slipped her backpack on. Daria said, "Well, I'd planned to go to Clown Books and maybe to the library. What about you, Jane?"

"I need to get home and start waking Trent up. Spiral has a gig at McGrundy's tonight. I'll just walk, since I'm not newsworthy."

"Uh, okay. Catch you later."

"So... shall we go?" Chuck asked.

Daria looked at him. _Maybe he isn't really leering,_ she thought, _Maybe his face is just naturally shaped like that. _"I have to go to my locker. Meet me at the auditorium door, same as yesterday."

…..

After they had cleared the cordon of commentators, Daria straightened up in the seat of Chuck's car.

"I didn't see you much today. Anything wrong?" he asked.

"No. I spent some extra time in the computer lab."

"Special project?"

"Sort of. I was researching agents."

"Ah, background material for another Melody Powers story?"

"Not that kind of agent. Literary agents. I'm going to hire one."

"Really! An advanced step so early in your career." Chuck sounded impressed.

"Suddenly it's later than I thought. I need one."

"You've decided to get serious about selling a book?"

"Well, yes, but I mostly need the agent for ancillary rights and advice right now."

"Ancillary rights? That sounds as if the main sale is made, or nearly so."

_Darn. The cat's out of the bag. Well, no matter, really._ "Chuck, can you keep a secret? For a few days?"

He perked up. "Absolutely. You may trust me with your most intimate confidences."

_Yeesh._ "You sure have a way with words, Chuck. You should see about getting it removed. The secret is that I've gotten an offer from a publishing company, a good offer. I'm going to sell them the North American book rights. But stuff like foreign rights and book club rights and audiobook rights still have to be negotiated, and I need professional advice on publicity and other things. So, I need an agent."

"Wow! They want to buy all that?"

"Well, the thing is, a standard book contract includes all of those rights in the sale price, whether the publisher thinks anyone will want them or not. An agent will keep the rights the publisher doesn't want for me, and make sure they pay a fair price for the ones they do."

"You know a lot about the publishing business."

"I wish. I've been doing some reading, but most of what I know is how much I don't know, or don't understand."

"Ah. The beginning of wisdom, so they say. What are you looking for at Clown Books?"

"Names and contact info on agents who represent books similar to my Melody stories."

"Can I help?"

"Uh, well, you could go to the action-adventure section and write down authors, titles, and publishers of books like that. I'm going to look some things up in the latest Writers' Market, which I can't afford yet."

…..

As they emerged from Clown Books, Daria accepted a couple of sheets of notebook paper from Charles. "Thanks, Chuck."

"I live but to serve. Where to now?"

"Home. I think I have all I need. I just need to go through it all and evaluate it."

"Let me take you to dinner, Daria."

Daria's mind felt like it had missed a shift. "What?"

"You know, the main meal of the day. A quiet restaurant, fine food, chamber music in the background, perhaps a candle on the table. We could relax and talk..."

"Uh, that sounds... nice, Chuck, but I really do need to get this taken care of as soon as possible."

They had reached his car. He stood there, hand on the door handle, and his shoulders sagged. "Sure, I understand. You don't want to be seen in public with the ol' Chuckster. It could ruin your reputation."

"Chuck, I'm being seen in public with you right now. And I'm sure you recall that a few days ago I was seen in public in the parking lot of the sleaziest motel in the county, without a stitch of clothes on, by pretty much the entire planet. Whatever reputation I have left after that..." Daria stopped as her slight irritation dissolved in the face of his disappointment and... something. She decided that demolishing his argument with resistless logic wasn't the way to go here. "All right. Anywhere you want to go on the far side of town, just keep me away from the media. But just a snack. I really do need to get this done soonest."

…..

Daria selected a nacho, twirled it to wind up the stringy cheese, and popped it into her mouth. "Of course you can have an autographed first edition, Charles. You can have as many as you want. You keep buying and I'll keep autographing, till I pass out from the marker pen fumes."

Charles grinned at the thought of Daria woozy from marker pen fumes. "Excellent! Put me down for a gross! I'll start embezzling from my college fund right away." He took a sip of his cola. "So this Ms. Huntington thinks Blood Oath Of Patriots should be made into a movie? I couldn't agree more! Can't wait to see it!"

"Not quite. What she said is, she thinks there's a good chance a studio will buy or option the movie rights to it."

"Practically the same thing, right? I still can't wait to see it!"

Daria smiled and shook her head. "Remember that gigantic warehouse in the last scene of Raiders Of The Lost Ark? Hollywood studios have warehouses like that full of books they bought rights to but never made movies of. Some even have scripts and screenplays ready to go. A few may even get made... in ten or twenty years." She sighed. "Hollywood is a strange and evil place. Wise men don't go there."

"All the more reason for Melody to go there and clean it up." Chuck grinned, picking out a nacho. "Fear not, my lovely... I mean Daria. Blood Oath will get made, I have foreseen it!"

"Ha. And who have you foreseen in the starring role? Angelina Jolie? Elizabeth Hurley?"

Chuck's grin widened and his eyes glittered with a mad intensity. "No, they are not worthy. There is but one who can fill the role of Melody Powers. Daria Morgendorffer!"

Daria's fit of laughter ended her nacho eating. After she wiped the cola off her shirt, they left.

…..

Quinn peeked in the Morgendorffer front door, scanned the family room, and winced. Her parents and Daria were all right there, seated around the coffee table. "Family Court" flashed in her head. But they gave no indication that they'd been waiting for her, or were even aware of her presence. She entered with the smoothness of long practice, keeping her shopping bags out of their line of sight, and deposited them as high up the stairs as she could reach. Then, sauntering casually over toward the sofa, she listened in to the conversation enough to determine that Daria was talking about some stuff she'd looked up. Carefully choosing a position so that they could clearly see she was empty-handed, she said," Hi, guys," in her most casual voice. Receiving brief greetings in return, she sauntered back out of their line of sight and back to the stairs. Retrieving her bags so carefully that not even the slightest rustle of plastic gave her away, she swiftly but noiselessly ascended the stairs with her booty.

Stashing the bags in her closet, she returned as quickly and quietly as possible. If they didi't notice that she'd been upstairs, shopping wouldn't even occur to them. She walked casually over to where she'd stood before. Helen and Jake were still listening to Daria and looking at some pages of notebook paper spread out on the coffee table. Daria glanced up at her briefly, and a twinkle in her eye told Quinn she'd noticed, but Quinn knew Daria wouldn't say anything.

"...and the ones I found two or more favorable references to are on this list. So I propose to start calling or emailing them, starting with her." Daria pointed to a name.

"You've done very well in such a short time, Daria. Go ahead," Helen said. Turning to Quinn, she said, "And how was your day, Quinn?"

"Oh, the usual," Quinn replied. "I heard that the band had an unscheduled practice this afternoon."

"Hmm," Helen replied non-committally.

"And they're going to have another one tomorrow. And the booster club is dragging bunting out of storage."

Daria looked up at that.

"And I heard a rumor that Ms. Li ordered a banner."

"Oh, no. Oh, crap," Daria said.

"That would be my guess," Quinn concurred. She couldn't hide a small smile.

"What's the matter, Daria?" Helen asked.

"The Last time Li ordered a banner was for Tommy Sherman Day."

"So?"

"So? SO? Tommy Sherman didn't survive Tommy Sherman day, remember? His memorial goal post fell on him and killed him."

"What does that have..."

"I was the last to see him alive, you know. Me and Jane."

"I'm sure that was..."

"And now he's come for me. He's reaching out for me from beyond the grave."

"Daria, what on earth are you raving about?"

"Mom, Daria figures Ms. Li's planning a Daria Morgendorffer day and, being Daria, she doesn't like it, and she's being all yellow-dramatic about it," Quinn explained.

"Daria, is that right?" Helen asked.

"No, of course not. It's 'melodramatic'. M, e, l, o, d..."

"I mean, do you think Ms. Li is planning a Daria Morgendorffer day?"

Daria gave her mother a look. "Oh, no, that would be silly. The banner will probably say "Happy Grandparents' Day."

Helen returned the look, with interest. "Don't you use that sarcasm on me, young lady. I'll make you eat it."

"Well, I can't answer yes to a question like that! It would be the height of arrogance."

Helen continued to glare at Daria for a second, then turned to Quinn. "Quinn, do you think Ms. Li is planning a Daria Morgendorffer day?"

"Of course. Like, what else could it be?"

"Well, that's wonderful! You should be proud, sweetie! Shouldn't she, Jake?"

"Uh, yeah! She sure should!"

Daria crossed her arms and glared off into a corner. "I'm already proud of what I did. It was the right thing to do, and I'd do it again. I don't need to be stood up in front of the school and slobbered over."

Helen looked at Daria, and her irritation faded away, replaced by affection and sympathy. "Daria, there are certain events in our lives that are marked by celebrations and ceremonies and speeches of various sorts, because we need them. As a society or a culture, I mean. Things like weddings and funerals and anniversaries, including anniversaries of famous dates in history. And like awards ceremonies. This will be a great honor for you, Daria, but it's also for your classmates. Ms. Li will bring you up on stage and say, basically: 'This one has done well. Go ye and do likewise.' It's really for all of us, dear, because we need more young people like you."

Daria turned and looked at her mother for several seconds. "I see what you're saying, and you make a good point. If that was what it was really about, I wouldn't object. I still wouldn't like it, but I'd go along with it. But Li has a way of shining a spotlight on someone, and then bumping that person out of the way and winding up in the spotlight herself. That's what she'll do with me; mention how clever and brave I was, but credit my Lawndale High education and probably her personal guidance. She says it's for the honor of Lawndale High, but it's really all about her. And money. There's always a money angle somewhere. She covers her tracks pretty well, but you just know that sometime, somewhere, she gets up in front of someone or some group and says, "I did X and Y and Z, therefore give me more money."

"Daria, fundraising is part of her job too. Maybe it shouldn't be, but it is. You should be glad that she's good at it."

"Oh, yeah, she's good at raising it, but then what happens to it? Why do we have security cameras and security guards and guard dogs when our textbooks are falling apart? Why do we have bulletproof skylights over the swimming pool when the roof of the library caves in from neglect? Why are we always out of school supplies?"

"I don't know, Daria. Do you want to investigate her activities?"

"I think someone should."

"Well, to get something like that started, someone has to come up with enough evidence of malfeasance or criminality to justify the expenditure of investigative manpower. Do you have such evidence?"

"Maybe. Well, probably not. I have a lot of examples of strange behavior, suspicious expenditures, and misplaced priorities. It would take me a lot of time to compile them, though. I'm sure I could get more."

"And that would take even more time. When were you planning to do this?"

"Uh, I wasn't. Someone should, though."

"Yes, perhaps they should. There are millions of things that someone should do. But in the real world, things get done when somebody stops saying 'someone should' and says 'I will.'"

"Damn it." Daria sat there for a minute, frowning in thought. "Well, I've already done my service to mankind for the month. I have something I have to do for myself now." She picked up a phone and punched in a number from one of the sheets of notebook paper on the coffee table.

…..

"Daria! You looked great up there onstage! I could swear you'd been practicing for a month. How'd you find out?" Jodie Landon asked as she put her lunch tray down.

"Quinn tipped me two days ago, when the band had their first unscheduled practice. I can't believe Li thought she could keep it a secret."

Jodie said, "From you, she thought she could. You're not exactly plugged in to the grapevine. She swore everyone to secrecy, with dire threats of retribution for anyone who blabbed."

"But why would she want to catch me flatfooted like that? Why wouldn't she want to give me time to prepare? Did she say?"

"She figured you'd use any time she gave you to weasel out of it, or maybe just bolt. Truth to tell, I halfway believed her. You should've heard the noise she made when she saw you in that outfit and realized you knew all about the assembly!"

"You should've recorded it. We could have all sorts of bad fun with a funny Li-noise," said Jane.

"I love that blouse, though I never thought I'd see you in something like that. Is that maroon?" Jodie asked.

"Quinn says it is," said Daria. "I say it's dark red."

"It's crimson," said Jane.

"Feminine yet a bit... dangerous. And that skirt isn't your usual either, is it? It looks shorter, and the material is nicer."

"It's a little shorter. It stops as far above the knees as the zip boots come up below the knees. You wouldn't believe how long it took me to find one just right. I had to make Chuck take me home and get Mom to help me."

"You went shopping for clothes with Upchuck? What were you thinking?" Jane exclaimed.

"Yeah, silly me."

"How long did it take him to get bored out of his mind?" Jodie asked.

"Actually, he was getting really flushed. I swear, sometimes I think that boy has X-ray vision."

"Naah, just a vivid imagination. What'd you expect, with you in a changing booth a few feet away, continually taking off clothes?" Jane smirked.

"I'm kind of surprised you went to all that trouble," Jodie said. "Actually, I'm very surprised. What inspired you to go out and pick out a new outfit?"

Daria took a cautious nibble of her salisbury steak. "My agent. She convinced me that I should change my image to look more credible as an author of novels of international intrigue."

"Uh, I don't intend this to sound snide or anything, but how did she succeed where all before her failed?"

Daria looked down at her fruit cocktail and smiled wryly. "Better bait. I want a career as a writer so bad, I'm willing to go to great lengths to get it. I'll even dress attractively if I have to."

"Hee hee! You make it sound as if you're suffering!"

Daria glared at her. "Thin ice, Jodie. I am suffering. I hate dressing like this. And if anyone else hits on me, I won't be the only one suffering."

"Sorry. So how did you get so good at dressing attractively in such a hurry?"

"Well, first off, your assumption that I didn't know how to dress attractively before is incorrect. I was just using my knowledge to achieve different ends. But I did get a lot of advice from my publicists."

"Publicists... plural?"

"Yeah. Well, they aren't actually mine. My agent has one and the publisher has a whole department. It was mostly my agent's publicist's advice. The publisher's staff are trying to get the bookstores to order lots of copies, setting me up interviews and stuff, but she's working on selling the movie rights, and actually getting a movie made. She's the one who says I should wear 'Melody-ish' clothes without actually trying to dress like Melody."

"Wow. A movie. What are the chances of that?"

"Of selling the movie rights, pretty good. Of the movie getting made, not nearly so good. But my agent and her publicist are really working on it, because the difference in money would be huge, especially if I get a job as a consultant or helping with the screenplay. And they keep telling me this is a major window of opportunity for me, while the press is still after me and they're still showing that damn video footage. So I'm doing what they want, as much as possible."

"Before I forget, Daria, thanks for the interview, and that article, and those two great excerpts from Blood Oath. I never thought I'd get to put out an extra, and I'm really glad my first one is about your novel being published. We're charging fifty cents a copy to non-students, and the media are still buying them like hotcakes. It's doing wonders for the Lowdown's budget."

Daria smiled. "Glad to do it. I hope the media spreads those excerpts everywhere. And I hope you'll get the chance to print another extra about the movie rights being sold."

Jodie grinned. "I'd love that. Of course you realize that, if that happens, Ms. Li will probably want to hold another assembly."

"I wouldn't be surprised." Daria's smile turned slightly wicked. "In fact, I might even help her out with it. I'll get some of those publicists down here to show her how they do it in the big city."

…..

Daria's head hurt, and there were several aches and twinges from various parts of her body. She didn't want to wake up, but something told her she should. Then something tugged at her ankle. She managed to get an eye open. She was in a strange room. That wasn't good.

The tug came again at her ankle. She looked down. Someone was squatting in the floor in front of her. Someone in a flowered dress. Someone with short curly gray hair. The old woman. Uh-oh.

Daria pulled her leg away, but it was caught in something. The woman said something like 'hah!' and got stiffly to her feet. Daria tried to back away from her, but could not. She seemed to be tied to a chair.

"Woke up, didja? Well, you're too late! I got ya tied up nice and snug. And you're gonna stay tied up till they turn Willy loose! That'll teach you to pick on Willy! Teach them too! I'll teach 'em all! Ha ha haa!" And with that she left the room, limping slightly, ignoring Daria's protestations. From what Daria could hear, she walked down a hallway and out of the house.

Memories came trickling back. Daria had testified before the grand jury about her role in the kidnapping drama, and they had, unsurprisingly, handed down an indictment of the kidnapper. He was a custodian at the municipal auditorium where the fundraiser for the lawn art museum had been held, and had apparently helped collect the donations, so he'd had some idea of how much had been collected, and had known the Guptys had taken it home with them. It also turned out that he had lived across the street from the Guptys until recently, with his mother. For some reason they had put the house up for sale and moved out. Daria was unclear whether it was because they couldn't stand the Guptys, or for financial reasons, but one thing that was clear was that they had hard feelings for the Guptys and blamed them, their behavior, their kids, and their kitschy lawn decorations for the house not selling.

Then the last memories started to return. Daria had been outside the courthouse, walking down the sidewalk, and had seen the woman standing by an older model sedan, struggling to get the door open. The hinge seemed to be sticking, and the woman seemed to lack the strength to pull it open by herself, and Daria had offered to help. And then had come the needle stick, and she had known no more.

Until now. Now here she was, tied to a chair in an empty room. The woman apparently had some idea of trading Daria for her son's freedom. That didn't augur well for her mental capacity. Daria couldn't see any way that could be made to work.

She turned her head to see as much of the room as possible. There were two windows in one wall, with shades covering them. In an adjacent wall, there was one window, covered with gauze curtains. The pull-down shade was missing from this window, and a piece of rolled-up carpet lay beneath it. Daria thought that it was in this direction that the woman had gone when she'd left the house. There seemed to be parts of two houses visible through this curtained window, at a distance that suggested they were across a street. That was probably the front side of the house, then.

On the side of the room opposite that window, there was only an empty closet, its door standing partly open. There was a full-length mirror set into the closet door.

Daria's swiveling her head around had told her that there was rope around her neck, not tight enough to choke her, but not loose enough to let her put her chin on her chest. She wondered what the purpose of that was. There were ropes tying her wrists to the arms of the chair. Three turns of rope went across her upper thighs, tying her to the chair seat. She could feel but not see ropes around her upper arms, her chest, and her ankles. None of them were painfully tight, but it was rough rope, and it chafed her neck, wrists, and ankles.

Daria tried to rotate the chair around so she could see the rest of the room, without success. It was a heavy chair, and friction held it immobile. It was also uncomfortable. She could see that the seat was upholstered in red velvet, but there was little padding under it, and the wood under the padding was flat and hard. The chair back felt like it made a 90º angle with the seat. Not a good sitting chair.

Daria tried hopping the chair up and down. This worked, although it was laborious, and she was able to turn the chair enough to see the rest of the room. There was nothing more to see. Well, at least she knew she was alone in the house. The racket would have brought someone to investigate, had there been anyone here.

She tried to pull her wrists out of the ropes that bound them. No good. Though the wrist ropes were loose enough so that she might be able to do it, she didn't have enough range of movement in her upper arms to pull her hands out.

Damn! There must be something she could do. She looked around the room again. Nothing that might cut or wear through the ropes except possibly the window glass, if she could break it, then pick up a piece. Extremely unlikely, as nearly immobilized as she was.

The mirror in the closet door caught her eye. If she could work her way over to it, she should be able to close the door and then examine herself and the chair in the mirror, and tell more about how she was bound and what it would take to escape those bonds.

She began hopping the chair toward the mirror.

After having to stop and rest several times, Daria finally managed to reach the mirror. Closing the door proved much harder than she thought it would, but she got that done too. She sat facing the mirror, breathing heavily, and really hating the piece of duct tape over her mouth. She'd nearly passed out a couple of times because she couldn't take in enough air through her nose, and she was dizzy now.

She'd need to back away from the mirror to see any details of how she'd been tied up, but one thing she could see now was that the chair she'd been tied to was an ugly Spanish Colonial thingcrude, cheap looking, and heavy.

The rope around her neck was also around the center board of the chair back, which had a long narrow strip of padded upholstery. A rudely carved top cross piece was visible above her head connecting the back board and the two back posts, which were finished off in large knobs above the cross piece. It was crudely reminiscent of a throne... or maybe an electric chair. The knot in the rope must be in the back; it wasn't visible.

Having caught her breath, Daria hopped the chair back away from the mirror as far as she could before she had to stop for breath again. Damn. Not far enough. She could see ropes criss-crossing her chest, again with no knots visible. These were tied around the entire chair back. She could see part of a knot in the rope that tied her right wrist to the chair arm. It was underneath the arm, but she'd assumed that.

As she sat and waited to get out of oxygen debt, she thought about the unfairness of life. _Or Is it, from some cosmic viewpoint, actually fairness? I risked my life, came close to getting killed, and mortally embarrassed myself to save the Gupty kids from their kidnapper, but then I was rewarded by having my first two Melody Powers novels bought, along with first refusal rights on my third, which only exists as a sparse outline and a page or two of notes. And just yesterday a major studio bought the movie rights to Blood Oath, outbidding another big studio._

_Has my pendulum of fortune swung too far to the rosy side, triggering a karmic backlash, to mix metaphors? How much of my recent fortune was payment for previous misfortune, and how much was overage, for which I'll now have to make restitution?_ Daria shook her head angrily. _Ridiculous! Superstitious bullflop! There's no such thing as karma, there's no such thing as luck, and fairness is something little kids whine about, a flawed concept that doesn't exist in nature. I'm here because Willie's mother is as batty as he is. She's probably the cause of his battiness. I need to focus here, and deal with the immediate reality._

Daria laboriously hopped the chair farther back, until she could see the whole chair, and all of herself, in the mirror. She glumly studied her reflection. It didn't look good. There was no knot visible that she had any chance at all to reach, and there was no likelihood that an unseen knot might be reachable either. She looked at the ropes around her ankles. Both were single loops with uncomplicated-looking knots, not hard to untie if she could reach them. But she couldn't. There was quite a bit of slack in them, so that her lower legs weren't actually in contact with the chair legs. A small bit of consideration on the old woman's part. Nowhere near enough slack, though, to enable her to pull her feet out of the loops. Damn.

She continued to stare at the ropes around her ankles. Something...

It hit her. The ropes were below all the cross braces that went from one chair leg to another. There was nothing to prevent them from being slipped off the bottom ends of the chair legs but the floor.

Daria visualized how it would have to be done. She'd have to turn and back up to the nearest wall, and find the distance at which she could tip the chair back, and it would just barely lean against the wall and stay there... she'd have to be careful not to do it too far from the wall or she might not be able to straighten up again... okay. She knew how she had to do it. She started to hop the chair again.

Daria stopped to catch her breath. The chair back was square to the wall, about four or five inches away. _This should be too close, but deliberately so, for safety. If I can't unlean the chair from the wall, or if I fall over, or otherwise get into a position I can't get out of, I'm screwed. Now easy..._

Pointing her toes and straining, she tipped the chair slowly backwards. The knobs at the tops of the back posts hit the wall. She relaxed her feet, and the chair tipped forward again. Right. She hopped the chair forward a little and leaned back again. The chair back bumped the wall, and wouldn't stay. Okay. Another small hop forward, and lean back again. It still wouldn't stay, but almost this time. One more small hop away from the wall. Daria caught her breath, and then tipped herself back again. She leaned back farther, farther... she strained and shoved off with her toes... felt the chair tip past the balance point... and thump gently against the wall. It sat there, the front legs off the floor, her feet off the floor, leaning against the wall. She looked in the mirror and started jiggling her feet, watching the ropes.

Several minutes later she managed to finesse and finagle the rope on her right ankle, the one nearest the mirror, off the chair leg. She lifted that leg so that she could see the other one better in the mirror, and in a few more minutes she had worked that loop of rope off the left front chair leg too. She thought a minute, and then attempted to kick and jiggle the rope off one foot. This proved easier, and in another minute, both loops of rope were lying on the floor. Smiling a smile of partial satisfaction at her achievement, she evaluated her new situation.

Without much hope, Daria tried to raise a foot high enough to reach one of the ropes that bound her wrists to the chair arms. No good.

_There's no way I'm going to get myself loose from this chair if I can't get at least one hand and arm free. And the only way I can see that happening is if I can detach the front end of one of these chair arms._ Daria pulled, tugged, and wrenched at the chair arms in every direction, but they seemed quite solid. _Damn. Now what?_

She couldn't think of anything more she could do in this position, so she stuck her feet out in front of her and pushed forward to straighten the chair up. She rocked forward more forcefully than she'd intended, and ended up on her feet, with all four of the chair's feet off the floor. Surprised, but hoping this might be turned into an advantage somehow, she turned and staggered over to the mirror. It was definitely a whole lot easier to get around this way than hopping the chair. Turning this way and that in front of the mirror, she located a couple of knots, but saw nothing that might help her get loose.

_Wait a minute. Do I need to get loose? Could I maybe get out of the house without getting out of this chair?_ Daria turned from the mirror and waddled over to the door that led out of the room. As she reached for the doorknob, the knob finials of the chair back struck the door, causing her to stagger backward and almost fall back into a sitting position. The neck rope tightened cruelly on her neck. After a brief swearing session, a little thought, and some surprisingly difficult and painful maneuvering and posturing, she managed to get a decent grip on the old, heavily tarnished doorknob, only to find that it was locked.

Daria set the chair's front legs down and leaned its top against the door to relieve herself of its weight, while she rested and caught her breath. It was a poor sort of rest, though, in the bent-over half crouch the chair forced her into. _When they catch that damned old woman and convict her,_ she thought, _I hope they put her in a cell that's about four feet in each dimension._

She straightened up, as much as she was able, and looked at the door. _The grain is oak, the paneled construction makes me think it's probably not a veneer, and the alligatored varnish says it's old. I don't know how sturdy it might be. But it is an interior door. It's worth a try._

She backed away from the door, then turned carefully around and backed up again until the back chair legs hit something. Bending over until she could see the bottom edge of the door between her feet, she adjusted her position until the chair was lined up squarely with the door. Taking two steps forward, she backed up rapidly and rammed the door. There was a solid thump rather than the splintering of wood she'd hoped for, and the chair tried to straighten up to vertical, jerking back painfully on her neck.

Mentally calling down further curses on the old woman, she took three steps forward, then backed up and rammed the door again. The lifting-toward-vertical was more pronounced this time, the seat rising beneath her and lifting her off the floor. If her upper arms and chest hadn't been tied to the chair back, she was pretty sure the neck rope would have snapped her neck, or at least crushed her larynx. She managed to turn around and face the door before she had to set the chair down.

Breathing heavily, aching in several unexpected places, and in serious pain where the rope went across her neck, Daria stared at the door. There were some scuff marks where the bottoms of the rear chair legs had hit it, but definitely no holes, no splintered or cracked wood. _This door is made of sterner stuff than the bathroom door at the Dew Drop Inn. It looks like as long as I'm tied to this chair, I'm not going to be leaving by this door._

Daria looked around the bare room. _I'm running out of_ _options here._ Her eye lit on the mirror on the closet door. _No. It's already shown me all it can._ Turning her head the other way, she saw the window that faced the street. _Hmm. Maybe I could attract someone's attention. If not, I might try breaking the glass. If I can get my hand on a long enough, sharp enough shard, maybe I can free one hand, and then... if I can free one hand and not drop the piece of glass, it should be only a matter of time before I cut myself completely loose. Eww, cut myself. I probably will, _she realized._ Not too badly, I hope. Well, got to get back on my feet. Damn, that's going to take some effort, even before I go over to the window and... do whatever. Maybe I should just sit here and rest a few more minutes before I start._

She sat there for a few seconds, staring at the door. _No. That crazy old woman could come back any time. She could knock me out again and take me who knows where. And when she sees that the ankle ropes are off, she'll surely restrain me even worse. So, no naptime today._

Daria laboriously hopped the chair over to the wall and turned it around. She tipped the chair back till its back touched the wall, then hopped it away from the wall another small hop. When she leaned back again, she felt the chair tip past its balance point just before the top of the back hit the wall. Smiling, she took a second to remember how she'd done it the last time, then thrust forward, kicking her feet out in front of her. The chair came away from the wall, tipped past the balance point, and the front legs hit the floor with a wooden thump. Daria kept the momentum going until the chair was balanced on her back, then took a couple of small steps forward to keep it there.

Wasting no time on self-congratulation, she turned and headed toward the window that looked out on the front yard. The curtains that covered the window, once white, were a brownish yellow from age and neglect, and there was a gap of about two inches between them. The window itself came down to within a foot and a half of the floor, and was apparently a fixed window, rather than the more common double sash type. It consisted of many small panes in a framework that had been inexpertly repainted more than once.

Daria visualized breaking some of the panes, using the large knobs on top of the chair back. It would probably take quite a hard blow to break glass with wood. She pictured herself striking the window with the chair, using a sort of bowing motion, harder and harder until the glass broke. She pictured the momentum carrying her and the chair forward, into and through the breaking window, off balance, unable to stop as her neck fell onto the jagged glass shards held upright in the frame...

Damn. That didn't seem like such good idea. And that one thin layer of fragile glass was all that separated her from the outside.

Outside. Oh, yeah, what's outside. She peered through the gap between the curtains, through the dirty glass. Because of the high chair back that protruded ahead of and above her head, and because of the roll of carpeting against the wall below the window, she had to shuffle back and forth behind the gap to scan the scene outside.

A low bush was just outside the window, then a small patch of unkempt lawn with a for sale sign stuck in it. A narrow residential street with trees, lawns, and houses on the other side; fairly new houses with white or pastel siding, about two bedroom size... something about the house directly across the street caught her eye. Not the house, but the yard... no, not the yard, but the yard decorations. The many tacky decorations. It was the Gupty house.

The Gupty house. After a brief flash of happiness to know where she was, she realized that it didn't actually improve her situation any. In fact, if she'd thought about it, she probably could have guessed her location. The kidnapper's house, across from the Gupty house, that they'd moved out of but hadn't been able to sell. Hmm, maybe this did improve her situation. If the old woman had demanded her son's freedom in exchange for hers, surely this would be one of the first places the police would look for her. Yeah! Of course! The police would find her.

As if her musings had been prophetic, a Lawndale Police car pulled up across the street. A policeman got out, scanned the neighborhood, shoved his stick into his belt, and walked around the front of the car. Daria tried to yell, succeeded only in going 'mmmf, and mentally cursed the piece of tape over her mouth once again. She bent forward to knock on the window with the chair back, but stopped after one knock when she remembered the thought experiment she'd done a minute ago. She knocked on the side of the window frame instead, but that didn't make much noise.

The policeman walked up to the Gupty's front door and rang the bell. Daria thumped the chair down on the floor as hard as she could. He gave no sign of having heard. _There must be too much background noise outside, _Daria thought,_ and he can't hear me. And with these curtains on the window, he can't see me either. Well, that's one thing I can fix._

She moved up to the window until the finials on the chair back touched it, and tried to grab one of the curtains. She couldn't. She straightened up as much as she could so that the top of the chair back wouldn't be so far forward, put a foot on the roll of carpet, and with difficulty managed to get part of a curtain in her fingers. Careful not to trip and fall as she stepped down off the rolled-up carpet, Daria backed away from the window, holding onto the curtain. She felt the strain increase, heard a creak from the curtain rod above, and then... the rotten fabric tore, leaving her holding a small ragged scrap.

"Mmmm!" she swore foully as she hurried back to the window. Across the street, Mr. Gupty was walking down his walkway, talking to the policeman. He pointed at the house. Daria thumped the chair on the floor with all of her might. She tried rapping with the top of the chair on the window again. Neither man seemed to have heard. _I have to make them see me,_ she thought.

Going through a series of contortions similar to the ones she'd used to get a grip on the doorknob, Daria worked herself into position again to grab the curtain. This time she stayed pressed up against the window as she slowly gathered up more and more of the flimsy fabric until she held the entire width of one curtain in her hand. Then she backed away again. The curtain drew tighter, the curtain rod creaked, the fabric began to make tiny popping noises. And then, just as she feared the whole curtain would tear in half, the curtain rod pulled loose from one wall mount, then the other, and fell to the floor. Grudging the time it took but knowing she couldn't afford to trip on it, she kept backing away until she had dragged the curtains away from the window. Waddling back to the window as quickly as she was able, she arrived just in time to see the police cruiser disappear out of her field of view. Her tormented scream would have rent the air, were it not for the duct tape.

_Lawndale's finest. Yeah, they'll find me. They'll find my liquefying corpse, still tied to this chair, when the neighbors get really persistent with their complaints about a foul smell. _

_Oh, hell. I wish I hadn't thought that last thought, particularly the liquefying part. Now I have to pee._

_Dammit, dammit, dammit! I almost wish that damned old woman would come back, if she'd let me go to the bathroom! I don't want to be found sitting in a puddle!_

Leaning closer, Daria peered out the window. No other traffic was visible on the street at the moment. Mr. Gupty paused on his way back to his front door to pick up something off the lawn. She felt tears begin to form in her eyes.

Daria turned around, facing directly away from the window, carefully noted her exact distance from the side wall, and took five measured steps forward. Then, not giving herself time to think about it, she started backing up as fast as she could. She lifted the chair's legs as high as she could, stepped high so as not to trip on the carpet roll, and squeezed her eyes shut.

She felt the back chair legs hit the window and heard glass break. She expected the chair back to protect her from the jagged shards as she fell through the window, and hoped that she was right, or at least lucky. Her foot touched the roll of carpet, about where she'd expected it to be, and stepped up onto it. Then the chair's front legs hit the windowsill, and the chair flipped violently up toward vertical, snatching her along with it. Her momentum and the chair's smashed through the rest of the window's panes and out into the sunlight and outside air, rotated through vertical and over onto her back. She felt herself falling and tensed for a painful impact.

A multiple crunching, snapping sound and the feel of the chair back pressing into hers told her she had fallen onto the bush. Her eyes flew open as she felt a sharp pain in her chest. A long daggerlike glass shard stood out vertically between her breasts, its edges glinting brightly in the sunlight. As she stared in horror, it leaned to the left and fell away out of her range of vision. She heard a soft thud as it hit the ground and the pain in her chest changed to a minor pricking sensation. She breathed a sigh of intense relief.

Her downward progress slowed and stopped, and she rebounded slightly, while feeling some twigs poking her painfully on either side of the chair back's central board. The chair tilted down and to the left as it started to slide off the bush, until Daria's feet and its front legs touched the front wall of the house, and it stopped. She sat there, closer to horizontal than vertical, and watched a few last shards of glass fall out of the window frame, and took another breath.

The slam of a car door and a shout of "Omigod, did you get that?" cut through her feeling of relief. They were followed by the sounds of two pairs of feet running across pavement and then lawn, quickly drawing closer. A microphone, a young man's face, and a TV camera thrust into view, and the young man's face asked, "Are you all right?"

Daria replied, "Mmm." Her look said, "You forgot to wear your 'stupid' sign, didn't you?"

"Oh, sorry," he said, and, reaching out and seizing a corner of the masking tape covering her mouth, he ripped it off.

"Aaah! Oww!" Daria cried out in pain.

"Sorry," he said again, then, "I'm Arthur Bodies of WLAW Channel 18 Action News. How do you feel, Daria?"

Daria stared at him for a second, mentally censoring the first several answers that popped into her head. "Incredulous."

"Incredulous? Why incredulous?" he asked.

"I can't believe you're trying to interview me while I'm tied to a chair!"

Behind a large freeform mahogany desk, in a leather executive chair with a very tall back, sat a man. He was a very impressive man. His impeccably styled wavy black hair was streaked with white, he was well tanned and looked fit, and his nails were manicured. His expensive, perfectly tailored suit was enlivened by a tastefully outrageous silk tie and matching handkerchief in the pocket. Behind him stood another man in expensive casual attire, designer sunglasses pushed up into his pale blond hair, a gold chain disappearing into his silk Hawaiian shirt. Both these men were intent on a presentation being displayed on a large laptop computer.

The man running the computer leaned over the large desk, occasionally tapping a few keys. He wore sandals, slacks, and a t-shirt under a light jacket, and had a three-day growth of beard and mussed hair. It was difficult to tell how much of his general rumpled appearance was for effect and how much was from a recent episode of overwork or partying, or both.

The presentation that held these men's attention was a series of video clips of Daria Morgendorffer, culled from recent TV news. Daria running out of a motel room naked and clobbering a kidnapper with a toilet tank lid, Daria holding a press conference, Daria dealing with harassment at school, Daria holding another press conference, Daria fielding questions as she left the courthouse, Daria crashing through a window tied to a chair and then taking the measure of a foolish reporter, Daria emerging from the courthouse again and taking questions, Daria doing interviews on news talk programs, and then back to Daria dashing out of the motel room naked.

After seeing the montage of clips three times through, the man in the executive chair turned to look at the man standing beside him. This man smiled a calculating smile and nodded to the seated man. The seated man turned to the slightly rumpled man and said, "Get her." The slightly rumpled man replied "Consider it done," closed the large laptop computer and hurried out of the office.

…..

"Hey, Jane. Daria, where were you yesterday?" Jodie asked as she came to a stop by Jane's open locker.

"Police station again. They wanted to be sure they were clear on all the details before they sent the charges against Mrs. Fry to the grand jury. I probably could've gotten back here in time for gym class, but I hung around to soak up some police station ambiance in case I ever write a cop novel. I did not, of course, tell you that."

Jodie smiled. "Mum's da woid," she said in a bad '40s movie thug impression. "We're starting to print the Lowdown for this week, and I thought I'd check to see if you had any late-breaking news."

"Mm, nope. You already know that Five Star Pictures bought the movie rights to Blood Oath."

"I still think I should have put out an extra when you found out," Jodie said.

"Nah. If you had, most of the students would've thought that meant they were definitely going to make the movie, and they would've been constantly asking me when it was coming out until I graduated."

"Or snapped and gunned down a dozen or so," smirked Jane.

'Yeah, or that. If I find out they have definite plans to film it, that would be more like extra-worthy news."

"I'm counting on you to let me know as soon as you hear about that. Hmm, I see you're back in your old outfit today. Any particular reason?"

"I can't be expected to look elegant, alluring, and vaguely dangerous every day," Daria said. "And I was getting tired of being hit on, so I decided to remind everyone that I'm just me."

"She can't take being popular," Jane said, still rooting in her locker. "God help her when she hits the best-seller list. She'll be a literary Janis Joplin."

"Oh, I don't know. She's been the media's darling for almost three weeks now, and hasn't imploded yet. Speaking of the media, the stuff I've been hearing about Mrs. Fry on the news these last few days make her sound worse than her son the kidnapper."

Daria nodded, frowning. "She's a real piece of work, all right," she agreed. "I've heard some stuff around the police station that the media hasn't gotten hold of yet, and the more I find out about her, the closer I get to feeling sorry for little Willie."

"Considering how close he came to killing you, and what he did do to you and the Gupty kids and the fashion club, that's saying a lot," Jodie observed.

Jane closed her locker and turned. "Yeah, more than I'd say. I had a scary thought last night. What would've become of Willie after Old Lady Fry kicked it? He might've become a real life Norman Bates."

Jodie shuddered theatrically. "That is a scary thought. Fortunately, Norman Bates is a fictional character."

"But he was based on a real person," Daria said. "Those two are yet another illustration of the fact that no one in the world can mess you up as bad as your own mother."

"Well yeah, theoretically, but monstrous mothers like that almost never occur in real life," Jodie replied.

"Eewww, Quiinn, youur cousin is wearing those... thinngs againn. I wonnder if I shouuld, liike, try to counsell her." Tiffany's voice. The fashion pack was on the hunt.

Daria, Jane, and Jodie glanced their way as they passed down the corridor. Sandi Griffin gave Daria a look that most people reserved for stinky stuff on their shoes.

"No, Tiffany," she sneered, "Some people are beyond help."

Daria spoke not a word; she merely glanced at Jodie and raised an eyebrow. Jodie cast her eyes ceilingward, then, shaking her head ruefully, put a hand over her face. Jane chuckled and was about to say something when Daria suddenly jerked as if she'd been shocked.

"Aah! she cried out, thrusting a hand down the waistband of her skirt. "Geeze!" Jodie and Jane exchanged a raised-eyebrow look. Daria brought her hand out of her skirt, holding a tiny cell phone, which she opened. "Damn vibrating ring!"

Jane snickered. "Gee, Daria, where exactly were you, uh, carrying that thing?" she asked.

Daria was squinting at the tiny labels on the tiny buttons. "Lane. Mind. Gutter. Out," she snapped. Finding the button she sought, she pushed it and held the minuscule phone to her ear.

"Hello?" ...yes, this is she. ...yes. ...uh-huh. ...You want me to what? ...You're kidding. ...Uh, well, I'll have to check with my parents, but I'm okay with it. ...November sixteenth. What's your name again? ... and your number? ...okay, talk to you later. Bye."

Daria shut off the phone, slipped it back into her waistband and stood there, eyes wide, staring blankly at Jane.

"What? Who was it? What did they want?" Jane asked.

"It was the studio... Five Star Pictures."

"Well, what did they say? What did they want?"

"They want me to..." Daria blinked and shook her head. Her mouth hung open slightly.

"Do a rewrite? Change the ending? What?" Jodie demanded.

Daria turned to Jodie, her expression one of wide-eyed disbelief. "They want me to... play Melody."

Jane let out a whoop. Jodie gaped for a second, then spun around and took off up the corridor at top speed, yelling, "Stop the presses! Stop the presses!"

Grinning, Jane watched her go. "Now she can die happy."

Daria teetered back into the bank of lockers with a soft clank, and slowly brought up a hand to cover her mouth. Still grinning, Jane took her by the arm and led her toward Mr. O'Neill's classroom.

In a large but cluttered office, the rumpled man switched off his cell phone and slipped it into his jacket pocket. Smiling broadly, he pulled his large laptop to him across the clutter on his desk. He opened a folder labeled Blood Oath, and inside it he opened another folder titled Shooting Schedule. From the few files it contained he selected one titled 'Scene 26: Amelia's Hospital Room', made a note in it: _Nov 16 or after,_ and resaved the file. Then, returning to a window showing a Five Star Pictures logo, he started working his way down through the menu tree, to Facilities and Equipment, then Sound Stages, then Schedules and Booking. Brow furrowing in thought, he stared at the complex chart for a minute, then reached for a pad and paper and began making notes.


	6. Chapter Six

**KIDNAPPED**  
** Chapter Six  
………**

As Jane sat at her desk waiting for Creative Writing class to start, it occurred to her how far beyond this class Daria was. Turning to look at her friend, she almost laughed out loud. Daria was looking pretty far beyond right now, still staring moon-eyed off into space, her mouth still not quite closed, smiling vaguely; apparently still processing the fact that she would be playing Melody Powers on the silver screen. Jane wondered if this was what Daria looked like after an especially good orgasm, which brought up the question of whether she had ever...

"Jodie Landon," Mr. O'Neill called. Silence answered. "Jodie?" He looked up, puzzled.

Jane said, "She's here. Something came up with the _Lowdown_."

"Oh," O'Neill said, looking surprised and slightly disappointed. He looked back down at his roster. "Jane Lane?"

"Yo," Jane said, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, yes," O'Neill said, smiling sheepishly. "Um, Michael MacKenzie?"

"Here," said Mack.

"Daria Morgendorffer?"

Daria didn't seem to hear. "Present in body," Jane answered, smirking.

Just then Jodie appeared at the door. "Mr. O'Neill, may I borrow Daria for a minute? It's for the paper."

O'Neill wondered if perhaps he should insist both girls be in class, but after a look at Jodie's eager smile, he said, "All right."

Jane reached over and gave Daria a push on the shoulder. Daria came around and gave her a questioning look. Jane smirked and pointed at Jodie, who was beckoning to her from the door. Daria got up and headed toward Jodie, although she looked like she wasn't sure why.

ﮏ...ظ

Jodie looked around the room that served as the Lawndale _Lowdown's_ editorial offices. Ted Dewitt-Clinton stood by, Nikon F2 at the ready. "...Now, how are we going to pose you... I wish we had a prop or something..."

Daria remembered something. "Oh, I know! There's a photo of me dressed as Melody in my online photo album. Give me a minute on a computer and I'll download it."

"That sounds perfect! Use that computer over there by the printer."

With a few swift keystrokes Daria called up her online links page and linked to her online image storage account. "Here's the photo I was thinking of, Jodie. What do you think?"

Jodie came and looked over Daria's shoulder, and inhaled sharply. "Omigosh, is that really you?"

Daria smiled slightly. "Yep. Remember after I read the first part of Blood Oath in the coffeehouse, how Kevin went into a blue funk because he thought Ratboy was dead?"

"Haha! Yeah, he was pretty much worthless for a few days. And when he snapped out of it, he told this weird story about meeting..." Jodie's eyes went wide and she gasped again. "About meeting Melody powers in front of the school at night, and about her giving him a note from Ratboy." She looked closer at the image on the screen. "And you're standing in front of the school at night in this photo."

Daria smiled a Mona Lisa smile. "Yep."

"Dressed like Melody Powers. With scars. And bandages. And a pistol?"

"Yep."

"So _this_ is what you were alluding to that morning, when you made that strange remark about upstanding types like me and Mack not getting invited on covert missions."

"Uh huh."

"Damn, Daria. You went to a lot of trouble for Kevin and the Lions. And here I didn't think you had any school spirit."

"I had my reasons. And don't you go spreading any malicious rumors about me having school spirit. That's a real pistol, you know."

"Heehee! You're a hoot, Daria! Well, anyway, this photo is just about perfect! Let me just crop it and size it and paste it in, and we can get the Lowdown rolling."

"Be sure to give Chuck the photo credit."

"I don't think that would be... appropriate." Daria and Jodie turned at the sound of the voice. Ms. Li stood behind them.

"Let me get this straight. Putting the news on the front page of the Lowdown isn't 'appropriate'; neither is announcing it over the intercom. But taking an hour out of everyone's school day to have an assembly, complete with a new and expensive banner of me dressed as Melody, with you standing beside me, and with the media called in,_ is_ 'appropriate'.

"Yes! Think of the greater good! Think of the _honor,_ the **glo-o-ory** it would bring to Laawnndale Hiighh!" Ms. Li's beady little eyes positively glittered.

Jodie said, "But Ms. Li, those banners are expensive! The teachers are all low on supplies! Our textbooks are falling apart! We need new..."

"Yes, yes, I know, Ms. Landon, but we must consider our priorities carefully in these lean times! There are sources of revenue other than tax money, but these sources are not open to just any school. We must distinguish ourselves and appear deserving to the public, and we must also appear worthy in certain ways to certain organizations, groups, and individuals. Trust me in this, ladies; I have tasked myself to become wise and knowledgeable in these matters."

"So you're saying that I should break this news in a certain way in order that the maximum benefit accrues to Laawndale Hiigh," Daria said.

"Yes!"

"And we should all set aside our personal concerns in favor of the common good."

"Yes!"

"Well you know, Ms. Li, these last couple of weeks, I've learned a lot about the nature and use of publicity and promotion. It's extremely important to a writer, especially at the beginning of her career. I think I should contact my publicists..."

"Publicists? You have publicists?"

"Oh, yes, my publisher's publicists, my agent's publicists... hmm, perhaps I should contact the studio's publicists too..."

"Ahh... I don't think it would be a good idea for you to get all those people involved at this point, Ms. Morgendorffer. You yourself said that we should all set aside our personal concerns in favor of the common good."

Jodie was looking from Daria to Ms. Li back to Daria with increasing concern. Maneuvering and manipulation were taking place here; she could feel it. She could see the familiar gleam of avarice in Ms. Li's beady little eyes. And there was a glitter of... _something_ in Daria's eye, and just the faintest upward twitch of the corner of Daria's mouth. What was Daria trying to do here? What was she after?

Daria appeared to consider Li's words. "Welll... I guess," she said, "as long as we all do it." She gave Ms. Li a direct, searching look. "But we need to agree on a few things. And, since it looks as if we're not going to be getting out a paper this morning, shouldn't we send these others back to class?"

Ms. Li glanced around at the rest of the _Lowdown_ staff. "Uh, no. Gossip spreads faster than the printed word." She looked at the other students. "You're all with us till after the assembly this afternoon." Her eyes narrowed slightly as she turned back to Daria. "Now, what exactly do we need to agree on?"

"Before we get to the agreeing part, I should take care of a couple of things. You'll probably want me to get one of my new outfits from home, if you want me onstage for the assembly."

"Indeed. Perhaps your sister will go and get it for you."

Daria smiled slightly. "I'm sure she won't mind, if you let her recruit a driver. And I need to get my parents' okay or there won't be anything to announce."

Ms. Li frowned. "Yes, take care of that immediately."

Daria pulled the tiny cell phone out of her jacket pocket, opened it, and punched a speed dial number. Ms. Li's frown deepened. "Miss Morgendorffer, students are not allowed to bring cell phones to school."

Daria gave her her best innocent look. "But it's for the glory of Lawndale High."

Ms. Li's expression changed into one that Daria could only describe as 'conflicted'. She made a frustrated little growling noise, then said, "Very well, but don't flaunt it." She made little shooing motions. "Go ahead, call, call!"

Daria put the phone to her ear in time to hear her father pick up. "Jake Morgendorffer Consulting! Jake Morgendorffer here! How may I help you?"

"Hi, Dad. It's Daria."

"Hey, Kiddo! Whatcha know? Oh, say, is everything all right? You're not in trouble, are you? "Cause if you are, it's okay to call your old man. I'm here for you, Kiddo! Not like my old man. I called him once..."

"No, no, I'm fine, Dad, I just need to consult you."

"Oh! Well, you certainly called the right dad for that. Consult away!"

"Okay. You remember my novel, Blood Oath Of Patriots, that you read a while back?"

"Sure do, Kiddo! In fact, I have the manuscript you gave me right here. I was just rereading it."

"That's great. My question is, if one of your clients had been offered the starring role in a movie based on that book, would you advise her to take it?"

"Uhh... off the top of my head, I'd say 'sure!', but what would she have to do?"

Daria hesitated. She'd always believed honesty was the best policy. This was no time to change. Resisting the impulse to cross her fingers, she said, "Play Melody Powers. Maybe brief partial nudity; you know that scene in the hospital where Melody shows Harmony and Amelia her scars?"

"Um, yeah..."

"There's that. But no sex scenes, no dangerous stunts."

"Okay... how much money would she get?"

"To be negotiated, but probably a million or more."

"Sounds good. Can she act?"

"She's never acted professionally before, but the director thinks she can do it."

"Well, I'd say it sounded like a very good opportunity. I wish I did have her as a client. Why do you ask?"

"The director just called me and offered me the part. So sign me up as a client, Dad. I have to tell Mom too, so I'll talk to you later. Bye!" Daria thumbed the cutoff button, took a deep breath, and speed-dialed her mother.

The phone at the other end didn't finish its first ring before it was snatched up. "Helen Morgendorffer," her mother answered in her oh-so-practiced lawyer voice.

"Hi, Mom, it's Daria. I need to talk to you."

"Daria, I'm at work and I'm very busy."

Daria frowned. "Of course you are. But I'm at a major crossroads of my life, and I need a few minutes of your time, if you can spare them."

"Daria, are you in trouble?"

"No, more like opportunity's knocking."

"Tell me."

"You know I've always wanted to be a writer, right?"

"Bottom line me, Daria."

Daria sighed. "Five Star Pictures wants me to play Melody in Blood Oath the movie."

There were two seconds of silence, then Helen said, "Daria, the movie business is not as glamorous as it looks from outside."

"I know that."

"I didn't know you wanted to be an actor."

"I don't. I want to be a writer."

"Then why..."

"There's a joke about writing. A man is asked what he'd do if he had a million dollars. He thinks a minute, then says, "I guess I'd be a writer until the money ran out." There's more than a grain of truth in that joke, Mom. But I could actually get a million dollars out of this, maybe more, and then I could write for a very long time. That's why."

"Oh, sweetie, I just don't know. That place has ruined so many lives."

"Mom, this is me, Daria. Do you really think I'm going to get sucked into the sex, drugs, and degeneracy of Hollywood? There's plenty of that right here in Lawndale, if I was interested. Oh, granted, the degeneracy is probably glitzier out in Hollywood, but it still doesn't appeal to me."

Helen sighed. "Oh, all right. I guess you've earned my trust. You're a lot more sensible that I was at your age. But I reserve the right to withdraw my approval if you... well, just 'if'. But couldn't this have waited till later?"

"It's a matter of catching a PR opportunity. I'll explain tonight."

"Daria, shouldn't you be in a class now?"

"Ordinarily. But Ms. Li approves. She's right here, if you want to talk to her."

"Uh... no. I really am very busy. I'll see you tonight."

"Okay. 'Bye, Mom."

"And Daria... I'm very proud of you."

Daria smiled. "Thanks."

The background buzz in the Lawndale High auditorium was louder than usual as the students filtered in and found seats. This was an unscheduled assembly, and students were speculating as to its purpose. Also, the Lawndale _Lowdown_, the school newspaper, had not come out this morning on schedule, and none of the paper's staff seemed to be available to question. More interesting was the fact that there were several TV cameras set up in the back of the auditorium.

A rolled-up poster or banner or something similar had been attached to the draperies behind the podium. Considerable discussion centered around what that might be. And a few students noticed that some of the Lowdown staff were seated in the front row, flanked by teachers.

The students were not alone in their curiosity. At the front of one of the aisles Timothy O'Neill, Anthony DeMartino, Claire Defoe, and librarian Page Codekis stood in a little knot. Their discussion was punctuated with shrugs and headshakes. Then Tim O'Neill looked at his watch and motioned toward a set of steps leading up onto the stage. Letting the ladies precede them, O'Neill and DeMartino made their way up onto the stage, found their designated seats, and sat down.

A hush radiated out over the auditorium from one of the entrances as Ms. Li entered and headed down the aisle toward the stage. Beside her walked Daria Morgendorffer.

The Fashion Club watched as the two walked past. "Hey, Daria looks good!" Stacy said.

"Shee's wearring reeall clothes," observed Tiffany. Quinn smiled and said nothing.

"Hmph! Her again? What'd she do this time-- find Waldo?" Sandi grumped. Quinn frowned.

To judge by the change in the tone of the murmuring as the two progressed down the aisle, others were also taking notice of Daria. She wore a red and black horizontally striped tank top, a short red skirt, black patterned hose, and black zip boots. Charles Ruttheimer was seen to bite the base of his thumb as he caught sight of her.

Ms. Li motioned for Daria to precede her up the steps to the stage, and then followed her. Daria went to the two central chairs and sat in one. Ms. Li went straight to the podium. She gripped the sides of the slanted top surface and seemed to be pulling back on it, as if she were holding herself there against an impulse to leave. Her eyes closed and her lips moved slightly, but the sound system picked up nothing.

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, tapped on the microphone with a fingernail and said, "Students... and guests... today I have good news for you." She waited a few seconds for the murmuring to die away, or for dramatic effect, then said, "First, thanks to some, uh, rescheduling of purchases, we have been able to acquire some much needed items sooner than expected. The book lovers among you know that funding cutbacks have delayed the purchase of new library books for the last two years. Well, those books have now been ordered!"

Ms. Codekis' eyes and mouth flew open and she clapped hands to her cheeks, the very picture of surprise. Then she stood up, clapping enthusiastically. Daria and the teachers on stage joined her, as did the teachers in the audience and quite a few students.

"In addition... in addition, our school supplies situation has been very tight for quite a while. But funding has been found. And not only for mundane supplies like chalk and paper and toner, but also for things like maps, charts, globes, and art and music supplies."

This time it was DeMartino, O'Neill and Defoe who shot to their feet, clapping enthusiastically. Daria and Ms. Codekis joined them, as did all the other teachers. More students showed more enthusiasm.

And... And that's not all," Ms. Li said, raising her hands for silence. "We will also be replacing all of our old, worn-out textbooks!"

This drew whoops and cheers from many of the teachers and several students, and the applause grew noticeably more enthusiastic. It seemed that just about everyone was tired of trying to keep the old textbooks together. Mr. DeMartino shot a speculative look at Daria, who merely smiled wider and kept clapping.

Ms. Li let the applause run its course before continuing. "Unfortunately, this means that the purchase of some much-needed security equipment will have to be postponed. Hopefully, not for too long." She took a deep breath, exhaled, and continued. "And I'll have to ask you all to take especially good care of the sports equipment this year. And now, I have one more piece of good news. Most of you know by now that our own Daria Morgendorffer has recently sold two novels, Blood Oath Of Patriots and Red Star Bleeding, to Full Court Press. Some of you may also be aware that Five Star Pictures bought the movie rights to Blood Oath, and an option on Red Star Bleeding. Well, today it is my honor and my pleasure to announce that Blood Oath Of Patriots will definitely be made into a major motion picture, and that the actress who will play the part of Melody Powers has been chosen. And that actress is..." she turned and swept an arm up toward the rolled-up banner behind her, which, on cue, was released and allowed to unroll rapidly. "Daria Morgendorffer!"

The banner unfurled into an eight by ten foot photo of Daria dressed as Melody Powers in a dark green headband, charcoal gray semitransparent watered-silk blouse knotted to reveal several fake scars on her abdomen, black hip-hugger slacks, and black leather shoulder holster. She had the breechblock pulled back on a Ruger autopistol held pointing upward at eye level, and was intently checking the chamber. The forward thrusting curve of her body and the glancing illumination of a floodlight threw her abs and cleavage into sharp relief. Ms. Li stood beside and behind her, looking out into the darkness, as if watching her back. Both were in front of a red brick wall at what might have been Lawndale High's main entrance.

A loud collective gasp went up, followed quickly by applause and cheering. Daria distinctly heard "OWOOOO! YYESS! I KNEW IT!" from Charles Ruttheimer, on his feet with both fists raised high in the air. She glanced over to where the fashion club was sitting and saw that Stacy and Tiffany were applauding, Stacy apparently shouting something. Sandi was sitting there with an unpleasantly shocked expression, till the boy in front of her stood up and she was lost to view. Quinn sat wide-eyed, jaw hanging. To her right, Mr. DeMartino was on his feet, applauding vigorously, looking delighted. Then she saw Ms. Li beckoning to her. She rose to her feet and made herself walk confidently to the podium.

As Daria stood there listening to the applause, a strange feeling came over her. A feeling she had never felt before, but a good feeling, a feeling that she was somehow absorbing energy from the crowd. She smiled, blinking, as she looked over the faces of the students, most of whom had never particularly noticed her before, but who seemed inordinately pleased to see her now. She waved, and the volume of the applause increased slightly. On impulse, she took a couple of steps to the left and smiled and waved to the audience on that side, eliciting a definite increase of enthusiasm from them. She returned to center stage, and then stepped out slightly to the right of the podium and waved again. They seemed to love it. Then the cynical little voice in the back of her head said, "It's the short skirt and patterned hose they love, stupid." Blushing a little, she returned to her position behind the podium.

As the applause began to die down, she held up her hands, gesturing for silence. "Thank you. Thank you very much," she said a few times. When the noise died down sufficiently, she began, "A short time ago... an amazingly short time ago... I was unexpectedly thrust into a life-and-death situation, a situation where not only were the lives of two young children hanging in the balance, but before it was over, my own life and the lives of four of our fellow students were as well. As we now know, it ended well, with none of us killed or injured. The reason it ended well was that, though I didn't know it going in, I was prepared, mentally and physically, to deal with the situation. And then, shortly after that incident, and because of it, I encountered an opportunity. Because I was on the news and my name became known, editors were willing to look at two novels I had written. Again, I was prepared. When my chance came, I had the novels ready to go, and they were judged to be good enough for publication. And now this. Because my agent has been working hard for me, because I've been doing what I could, and because some producers and directors in Hollywood saw me on TV and liked what they saw, I'm..." she paused as laughter started and grew in the audience. Then, realizing that they were thinking about the first video of her naked, she lowered her head and put a hand over her face. After a few seconds, blushing slightly but smiling, she looked up and continued. "...I'm going to get a chance to star in a movie based on my novel."

If my books sell well, my publishers are going to want to see the next book I write. And if the movie is a success, I may get a chance to act in another movie or two. And if people get to know me and like my work, that will give me an opportunity to do something else I really want to do─ write more seriously, and have people seriously consider what I have to say. And this all sort of follows from what happened that morning when I was on my way to a babysitting job.

"I know some of you are thinking, "man, she is so lucky." Yes, I am lucky. Seneca said, 'Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity." That's the kind of lucky I am. When Tad and Tricia Gupty were kidnapped out of their front yard right before my eyes, it certainly didn't look much like an opportunity. But opportunity is like that sometimes. We don't often know when one is going to show up, so we must always be prepared.

"How did I get prepared? Well, I have to give my parents most of the credit, and I read a lot. And for the last two years, I've been coming here, to Lawndale High. That's what this place is for, you know, to prepare us for life. So I want to take this opportunity to say 'thank you' to the faculty, administrators, and staff of Lawndale High for their hard work, dedication, and sacrifice in preparing me for life and for my strange opportunity when it jumped out at me. Stand up, you guys, and give yourselves a hand."

After the applause and after Ms. Li had said a few more words, there was a photo op. Many photos were shot of various teachers and students and sundry groupings of same, all including Daria, and almost all including Ms. Li. Daria posed this way and that way and every other way, and smiled until she thought her face would be permanently paralyzed. Finally, a few minutes before the end of the period, Ms. Li let them go. The photographers practically ran from the auditorium, with the team and the cheerleaders not far behind. Daria stood there on the stage massaging her cheeks.

"Miss Morgendorffer, I don't know how you did it, but thank you." Daria turned, and Mr. DeMartino was standing there.

Daria smiled and looked down at the stage. "Well, Jodie reminded me of all the stuff we need. I'm not sure why Ms. Li put such a high value on being the first to make the announcement, but it was obvious that she wanted it very badly, so I just did a little horse trading. I hope it gets her the extra funding she thinks it will."

Mr. DeMartino got a peculiar look. "If she thinks it will, she's probably right. She plays **_that_** game very **_well_**. I just hope some of that money trickles down to the **_stu_**dents. Well, I have to get to my class, before the **_stu_**dents demolish the **_room_**. Congratulations, Miss Morgendorffer." He turned and headed off the stage.

Daria stood there for a few more seconds, then descended the steps at the other side of the stage, walked up the other aisle, and out of the auditorium.

As she emerged into the corridor, Daria saw that there was a crowd around the folding table holding the copies of the Lawndale Lowdown. Students were snatching copies of today's edition with her photo as Melody on the front page, and Ted was approaching with another stack. _I'd better bring home enough copies for Mom to send to everyone she knows, or she'll never forgive me,_ she thought.

Joey, one of Quinn's boy toys, saw her as he stepped away from the table. "Hey, way to go, Daria," he said, "Would you autograph this Lowdown for me?"

Concealing her surprise, Daria said "Sure," and did so. "And one for my little brother?" He asked, handing her another copy. She smiled and signed it too.

As Joey left, a black girl also asked her for an autograph, and by the time she'd signed that one, a line had formed.

"Omigod, I don't freakin' believe it. They're lining up for her autograph!" Quinn exclaimed. She and Stacy were waiting while Sandi and Tiffany swapped out their books.

"Gosh, the line is forming fast," Stacy observed, "maybe we should hurry up and..."

Sandi slammed her locker door. "_Staa_-cee, I just _know_ you're not going to suggest we get in line for an autograph from Quinn's weird cousin, or whatever."

"Eep! But Sandi, she's a movie star!" Stacy replied timorously.

Sandi scowled. "She's still a brain. And a geek! Did you not hear that speech she just gave? And anyway, how can she be a movie star if she hasn't starred in any movies?"

"Shee's alll overr the Teee Veee..." Tiffany said.

"Well, sure. I could be on TV too if I ran In front of a video camera naked. But I don't do that. And why not, you ask? Because naked isn't fashionable."

"Itt's nnott?"

"Of course not, Tiffany dear. How could it be? We can't go shop for a new birthday suit when the season changes, can we? No. We're stuck with the same one, all our lives. Definitely not fashionable. That's why we have to cover it up, you see."

"O-o-o-ohhh."

Quinn frowned. She knew how Sandi felt because she felt that way herself. She had worked long and hard for her popularity, and it had paid off. She was the most popular girl in school, no matter what Sandi thought. But now it seemed as if a ton of popularity had just fallen from the sky and landed on Daria, of all people. Observing the lengthening line of students seeking her sister's autograph, Quinn felt jealous and threatened, and was not at all surprised that Sandi felt the same way. But the way Sandi was talking about Daria now made Quinn feel guilty for feeling that way. Daria had, after all, sacrificed her dignity and privacy and risked her life to save the Gupty kids from an armed kidnapper, and Quinn knew how long and hard she'd worked on those two novels, and how much time, effort and creativity she'd put into following up on her opportunity these past weeks. Daria had certainly done the work, even if popularity wasn't her objective, and Quinn suddenly had no desire to badmouth her sister the way Sandi was doing. But neither did she want Sandi to know what she was frowning about, so she kept her face turned toward Daria.

As she watched her sister signing autographs with what was, for Daria, surprising graciousness, she wondered if she shouldn't have dashed out that door instead. She wouldn't have minded the nudity too badly, she thought, even if she'd known there was a video camera trained on the parking lot and rolling. Clothes or no clothes, Quinn knew, she always looked good. Surprisingly, she thought, glancing at her sister standing there in one of her new outfits that didn't hide her figure, it turned out that the same could be said for Daria.

But could she have opened that motel room door and dashed out straight at the kidnapper, she wondered, knowing full well that he had that big ugly revolver, and no reason not to use it? The revolver didn't show in the last video sequence, but Quinn knew from Daria how close she had come to being shot. How had Daria brought herself to charge that gun, armed only with a piece of crockery? Quinn couldn't imagine, nor could she imagine herself doing it, try as she might.

And what about the door before that, the bathroom door? It had been wedged shut from the outside with a chair. Quinn hadn't seen any possibility of escape; she'd been resigned to waiting there in the bathroom until the maid came to clean the room. But Daria had snatched up a tool where there had been no tool, smashed through what Quinn would have sworn was a solid wood door in seconds, unwedged the chair, and been gone before Quinn could say "What the..."

_No,_ Quinn thought regretfully, _I couldn't have done what Daria did. Probably not one person in a thousand could._

Daria signed the last autograph and hurried toward her locker. The halls were nearly empty. She was probably going to be late to Trig class, but it occurred to her that it was very unlikely she'd be fussed at today. She smiled a little as she opened her locker and pulled out her bookbag.

Jodie came by just as she was closing her locker, and the two fell in step. Jodie glanced at her and asked, "How does it feel to be a movie star?"

Daria shot her a suspicious glance, but Jodie was smiling. "So far, it's mostly a pain in the butt, but I have to admit to an occasional tingly feeling."

"That was a wonderful thing you did for the school," Jodie said.

"We both did that. You brought it up first."

Jodie smiled. "I hope it makes a difference."

Daria smirked. "I'm sure the learning rate will go right through the roof."

Jodie's smile widened a little. "You're not nearly as cynical as you pretend to be, Daria."

"Am too."

"Ha. I heard that speech you just gave. A darn good one, I might add."

Daria's mouth twitched. "My part of the bargain. Make Li and the school look good. Worthy."

"You certainly did that. But most of that speech was aimed at the students."

Daria shrugged. "Had to display that 'learning is winning' attitude." Jodie shot her a skeptical look. "All right, I couldn't pass up a chance to illustrate that some of the stuff they teach us actually does come in handy sometimes."

Just then the bell rang, and the two girls jogged the last thirty feet to the classroom door.

Daria entered the kitchen and saw Quinn seated at the table, moodily munching a celery stick. Her notebook, pencils, and two textbooks were on the table, and she was reading one of them. Helen was standing by the microwave, reading the instructions on a package of frozen moussaca. Daria poured some salsa into a small pudding bowl and some tortilla chips onto a paper plate, and headed back upstairs, singing the _Fame_ theme softly to herself.

_.  
"I'm gonna live forever.  
I'm gonna learn how to fly  
High!  
I feel it comin' together;  
People will see me and cry."  
_

Quinn burst into tears.

Daria stopped, startled, and turned back. "Son of a gun. It's true," she said.

Helen dropped the frozen moussaca to the counter with a clunk, and went over to Quinn. Daria took a step toward them, trying to think of something to say. Seeing her, Quinn only cried harder. Helen waved Daria away, so she turned and went up to her room.

Several minutes later when she came back for a can of cola, Helen was seated at the table, talking to a still-disconsolate Quinn. Quinn was saying, "I'm happy for Daria, really I am! It's just that... I've always tried to be popular. I've worked hard, and I've gotten pretty good at it. And Daria... she not only doesn't try to be popular, she actually works at being unpopular! I never could understand why she'd do that. And now suddenly she's not just popular, she's famous! More people recognize her than Queen Elizabeth! And now she's gonna... Mom, movie star was one of those things I dreamed of, like supermodel or princess; something way out there, but maybe one day, you know? And it just falls into her lap! I'm not jealous of Daria, really, but... oh, I'm not saying this right. You have no idea what I mean, do you?"

Daria popped the top on her cola and took a sip, then said, "It's kind of like I snuck around and got in while you weren't looking, or like I took a shortcut that you didn't even know was there, isn't it?"

Quinn looked up at Daria. "Yeah, exactly! Well, sort of. I know you've worked hard to be a writer, but..."

"But starring in a movie, one that may turn into a series, is just so out of the blue. You must feel like I hijacked your fairy godmother."

Quinn smiled a lopsided smile. "You didn't hijack anything, but... yeah, sorta."

Daria took another sip of cola. "I don't know what to tell you, Quinn. I'm as surprised as you are. I certainly never thought of being a movie star, much less worked toward it."

Helen sighed and looked down at the table, where her hand lay over one of Quinn's. Daria looked over at her mother, who seemed disappointed.

"What?" Daria asked.

Helen looked up, a little guiltily. "Oh, nothing. I was just hoping... well, you have such a way with words, Daria. I was remembering after your father's heart attack, when Ruth was giving me such a hard time. You said a few words to her that shut her up completely, and she left the next morning. I guess I was hoping you'd say a few words to Quinn that would cheer her up."

Daria sighed. "That's the trouble with a reputation; you're always having to live up to it." She meditatively ran the cola can across her forehead. "Well, I'll give it a shot." She walked over to Quinn, brushed the long strawberry blonde hair back from her ear, bent down, and whispered something. Quinn immediately sat up straight, eyes wide. She shot to her feet, squealing in delight and knocking her chair over. Seizing Daria in a tight hug, she planted a big smacking kiss on her cheek. Then she ran out of the room, calling out "Thanks, Daria!" over her shoulder.

Helen watched her go, looking happily surprised. "Well, that was amazing, even for you," she remarked. "Where is she going?"

"I have no idea."

"What in the world did you say to her?"

Smiling a Mona Lisa smile, Daria held up two fingers. "Two words. Harmony Powers."


	7. The Unfairness Of It All

KIDNAPPED  
Chapter Seven  
The Unfairness Of It All  
-o0o-

The Morgendorffers were just finishing dinner when the phone rang. Quinn grabbed it and answered, then, looking slightly surprised and disappointed, said, "Yes, she's here," and handed the phone to Helen.

Helen's younger sister Amy was on the phone. She said, "Helen, what in the world did you do to Rita?"

"Amy? Why, nothing. I haven't even seen her since Erin's wedding. Why do you ask?"

"She called me last night and whined my ear off. Told me about all her troubles, and all of Erin's troubles, and said Mom was mean to her and told her to quit calling so often. I got the distinct impression that she was upset about something you said or did, and she couldn't get enough sympathy out of Mom, so she called me. But she wouldn't tell me what you said that set her off."

Helen smiled smugly. "Well, goodness. I did call her recently to see how she was doing, and catch her up on the news from Lawndale, but I can't imagine what she might have been upset about."

"Oh. O-o-ohh. I suppose part of the 'news from Lawndale' would have been about Daria catching that kidnapper and saving those two kids, and then being kidnapped herself, and escaping..."

"Well, sure..."

"And about her being on the news, and on all those talk shows, and selling two novels..."

"Well, yes, I did mention that."

"And about her being picked to star in the movie version of her own first novel?"

"Why, no, that hadn't happened yet. Do you think I should call her back and catch her up again?"

Amy laughed. "Oh, absolutely. That would be the sisterly thing to do. In fact, I think you should make it a conference call, so I can listen in and make appreciative little noises at the appropriate times."

"What a wonderful idea, Amy! Let's do that right now. Let me put you on hold while I dial her number... okay, it's ringing. You still there?"

"Yep. This'll be fun. Hey, remember that time she told all her friends that you'd just gotten your first training bra?"

Helen's expression turned angry. "Indeed I do. Remember the time she took you downtown shopping, and then met some boy and left you there?"

"O-o-oh, yeah. Remember when she..."

"Hello?"

"**_Hi,_** Rita! It's Helen!"

"And Amy!"

-o0o-

"It's so unfair," Sandi whined as she watched Jake carry some of Daria's luggage out to the car for the trip to the airport. "I should be the one going out to Hollywood. I know I'd make a much better movie star than Daria. I'm much better prepared, but she was in the right place at the right time."

"Oh, I'm sure you're right, Sandi," Daria's voice came suddenly from behind them. "It's just your bad luck that you weren't there that day, at the motel with the kidnapper. If you had been, I'm sure you would've disarmed him with a lightning-fast karate move, or something, and saved the day, and then you could have sold _your_ novels." Daria continued past them with a carryon bag and a briefcase.

"Bu-ut," drawled Tiffany, "She was there. We all were."

"That's not what I meant, Tiffany dear," sneered Sandi.

"What _did_ you mean, Sandi?" Stacy asked, giving Sandi a peculiar look. "How was it unfair?"

"STA-cy, isn't it obvious?" Sandi scowled, "Daria just happened to be much closer to the toilet than I was."

Quinn tried to suppress a burst of laughter, but only succeeded in prefacing it with a snort.

Sandi scowled. "I don't see _you_ boarding the Hollywood Express, Kuh-winn."

"I'll be going out next week," Quinn replied, smiling sweetly. "Daria has a bunch of meetings and script conferences that I don't have to be there for."

"Huh? What?" Sandi said, shocked, "Uh, what are you going to do out there?"

"Well, I'll have to do a screen test, but Daria thinks I'm a shoo-in for the part, because the character was modeled on me, and then I'll be doing a lot of modeling for publicity stills and tie-in merchandise, and the action figure of course, and I have to get fitted for my wardrobe and then…"

"Whoa-whoa-whoa, what character? What part?"

"Why, Harmony Powers, of course. You know, Melody's sister?"

"No, I don't know. When were you planning on telling your friends about this, Quinn?"

"Oh, Sandi, I told you a long time ago, remember? Back when Daria and I were reading the story at the coffee house?"

Sandi looked at Stacy and Tiffany, who both nodded. "Hmph. So I guess you won't be seeing your friends for some time, while you're gallivanting around Hollywood playing movie star."

"You mean you're not coming out next month with Tiff and Stacy?" Quinn asked, sounding surprised.

"Wha-a-at?" Sandi gaped.

"I'm trying out for a part as an Academy student," Stacy said, doing an excited little squinch.

"Chinese commando waitress," said Tiffany.

"Yeah, maybe Tiffany will get to kill me before Daria kills Tiffany!" Stacy added.

Sandi looked poleaxed. "And was anyone planning to mention this to _me _at any time?"

"Eep!"

"We thought you knew…"

"You do kind of stomp off in a snit whenever we mention Daria or the movie," Quinn pointed out.

"But I never thought that we… that you… well, I guess it doesn't matter now. All the parts have probably been spoken for." Sandi crossed her arms and scowled down at the ground.

"The only part spoken for is Melody," Daria said, coming back out with some last-minute items to be squeezed in somewhere, "and that's not guaranteed. If I can't act it, they'll get someone who can. They'll be needing hundreds of actors for the Stadium scenes, even with tricky camera work. If you can act at all, you can be an Agency Academy student."

"Come on, Daria," Jake called from the open trunk of his Lexus. "Jane's here. Remember, you have to check in two hours before flight time." Daria hurried toward the car as Jane jogged up from the other direction.

-o0o-

The frantic last-minute repacking was accomplished, and the Lexus loaded with Morgendorffers had disappeared down the street. Sandi glanced at Tiffany, smiling vaguely off after it, and at Stacy, furtively wiping a tear from one eye, and then down at her fashionable open-toed sandals.

"Wow. Quinn's weird brainy unfashionable sister is really going to Hollywood. She's really gonna like be a star. Funny, I still think of her as Quinn's cousin. Dumb, huh?"

Stacy rolled her eyes but said, "I know what you mean."

"They're so not alike," said Tiffany.

And that weird art chick is going to be a star, too, and of course, Quinn," Sandi went on.

"Well, they'll both probably get good parts, but hey, we might get good parts too!" Stacy said encouragingly. "I'm going to get a copy of that book as soon as it goes on sale and mark all the parts I want to try out for."

"Good idea," said Tiffany.

Sandi looked up at her friends and smiled a little, but her smile faded. "But there are going to be thousands of people trying out for those parts. People who studied acting. Even people who went to Julliard and places like that. I'm going out there, sure, and I'm going to do my best, but it's not like I really have much of a chance."

"Sure you do, Sandi. We've got influential friends. You know Quinn will have the casting director wrapped around her finger by the time we get out there, and you know she'll put in a good word for us. That's what friends are for!"

"You really think so?"

"Sure! We all know they're gonna want to keep Quinn happy, and that place is ripe with necropism."

"Rife with nepotism," said Tiffany.

Sandi and Stacy looked at Tiffany wide-eyed for a second, and then both broke into laughter.

"What?" said Tiffany.

"Yeah, you guys are right. That's what friends are for. So, you want to go see if the Shade Shack has any cute new sunglasses, or do you want to practice getting killed?"

A passerby on Glen Oaks Lane that morning, had there been one, would probably have been amused and/or puzzled at the sight of three pretty teenage girls playing a spirited game of bang-bang-you're-dead on the front lawn of number 1111.

La la LA la la.


End file.
